


Catch Me in a Dark Room (with a Storm Outside)

by Canon_Is_Relative, stardust_made



Series: The College AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Dorks in Love, Drama, Epistolary, First Time, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Love, M/M, Pining, Romance, Slash, Some Humor, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 15:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 127,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2816813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canon_Is_Relative/pseuds/Canon_Is_Relative, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust_made/pseuds/stardust_made
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon divergence post season two where Sam doesn’t die and Dean doesn’t make any deals, and their lives take on completely new turns. Sam goes back to college and Dean keeps hunting...but can they stay apart? A get-together story in a universe where the forces of Heaven and Hell left them alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story is complete, though we are still posting the extras. Each of us took one character's POV and wrote him from start to finish. Part of the story is told only through text exchanges between Sam and Dean, while the other features a few text exchanges but is mostly in narrative form with alternating POVs. A lot of material ended up on the cutting room floor only because it didn’t quite fit within our frame; we feel some of it might be of interest to readers, so there’ll be some Special Features at the end.
> 
> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.
> 
> Special thanks to [frozen_delight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight) for introducing us to each other. She was the first to know about the story and we are excited to share it with her at last!

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

**PROLOGUE**

_June 2008, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

It was hot, blazing hot outside.

The world was humming with the kind of heat the locals waxed poetic about all winter and started complaining about before June was even in full swing, hiding inside with their air conditioners and leaving the glorious weather to Sam and those like him who knew what real heat was. It was nothing like California, it was nothing like what Sam imagined Hell was like, and it was too humid to really remind him of long drives through Arizona with the windows down. It was nothing other than what it was, a southern Wisconsin summer, and Sam opened his arms to embrace it, grateful and greedy. 

He wasn’t the only one, either. Campus was swarming with girls in tiny skirts and boys whose shirts had gone missing with the sunrise. Frisbees and raucous shouts were tossed through the air as he swam through the sea of people on Library Mall. The fountain was a mass of bodies splashing, laughing, coming together and breaking apart in endless, never-repeated eddies. Sam was smiling as he made for the old church on the far side of the green, enjoying the carefree cadence of the crowd around him, even enjoying the way sweat was gathering at the small of his back, the way the breeze felt cool against his damp skin when he unslung his backpack and sprawled down on the steps of the church, tipping his head back to catch the sun. Heat assaulted him from everywhere, like he was under fire from the sun above him, the stone steps beneath him, even the heavy air around him, but he welcomed it, soaking it in. 

He hadn’t felt warm in weeks. Or even a month, maybe, if not longer. Chilled to the bone by the long silence, by his own cowardice that wouldn’t let him break it. He kept his eyes closed and his face pointed at the sun until the white-hot light felt like it was pressing against his eyelids, burning them away to the last layer of skin so that he could see the world around him in pearlescent, ghostly shades with solar flares outlining every solid shape and shorting out awareness of everything else that wasn’t physical, wasn’t permanent, wasn’t real. 

_‘God Sam, just let it go, ok! Please let it go’_

The way the sun was rippling across his skin Sam thought there was a good chance that it’d soak all the way through this time, cleanse and purify him down to his bones, chase the chill away for good.

\---

_Dean_

The sun was like an insult to Dean’s skin, a permanent slap mark on his face. He kept walking, swearing quietly under his breath and wiping sweat from his brow. The stink of the sunblock that chick had put on him made him want to veer off his course and go find the nearest bathroom, then wash or wipe his face. Anything, just as long as he got the stuff off himself. Chick probably thought she was being cutesy, making cooing sounds over his freckles—

_‘I miss your face.’_  
 _‘Especially the freckles.’_  
 _‘And everything else.’_  
 _‘You always look so good it's kind of disgusting.’_  
 _‘And yeah, your freckles are awesome.’_

Dean’s fingers began itching to touch his nose where he knew the tiny new bastards had managed to invade his skin before the sunblock appeared in his life. The girl had taken it out of her handbag. Who the hell carried that kind of crap with them everywhere? 

Fair-skinned college girls apparently, whose primary concern in life was to avoid red blotches on their faces. 

Why shouldn’t it be their primary concern? Dean felt a pang of remorse for lashing out, even if it was in his own head. The girl—Mariah? Marianne?—why shouldn’t she worry about sunburn in the summer? Why shouldn’t she wake up every day with a head full of questions such as what to wear, or whether she should skip tonight’s party and work on her paper instead, or what an inconsiderate person her roommate was for borrowing whatever chicks borrowed from each other and never gave back? 

Dean killed monsters. Other people didn’t. Other people weren’t screwed in the head. Dean killed monsters so that other people could be safe and think about freaking sunblocks all day long if they wanted to. Or so he chose to believe.

He ran his fingers through his dampening hair this time, speeding up a little to get to the church. It had to be cool in there; he could stop for a moment, take a breath, then continue on his way to Bascom Hill where the main chunk of classroom buildings were supposed to be located.

Everywhere around him the human beehive undulated with relentless energy. Students, hundreds of them it seemed, with the excited or blissed out demeanor that spoke of glorious summer weather. It wasn’t like Dean needed one more thing to make him feel like the odd one in this crowd, but there it was: as far as he was concerned, the weather wasn’t glorious. Not that he cared about the freaking weather, but it was too hot and too bright, dazing him to the point where he actually felt sympathy for one of the things he hunted. If this was how vamps felt all the time during the day, no wonder they wanted to gnash their teeth and sink them into something. His heart was starting to pound, his armpits were itching, and he reeked of that damn sunblock. 

For a split moment the doubt whooshed through him again, unbidden. Miraculously, he’d kept it at bay throughout his drive here. He had expected it to sing along with every song blasting through the speakers, cunningly substituting the lyrics with its own rhymes of guilt and insecurity. Yet he had been fine. Not because he was certain he’d made the right choice to take off. He just hadn’t thought about it. He’d felt Baby’s engine’s pulse picking up and listened to it, kept it steady. He’d felt the wind cooling him off and the music filling him up—known-by-heart, free-spirited classic rock. His destination had taken away the emptiness of the passenger seat and made Dean press on just a little more, mind switched off, heart speeding up.

But now he was here and he was slow, so slow. His feet were carrying him forward quick and bold on the outside, yet Dean had that dreadful feeling he remembered well from nightmares: barely moving an inch despite straining to a breaking point. The doubt managed to catch up with him here. It whispered reasonably: Dean. Dean. If everything feels so off, if you feel so damn off, maybe you shouldn’t be here after all. 

Six weeks. Six weeks of calm before the storm. Not that he had been literally calm during those six weeks. Bobby had a lot to say about that for sure! At least Dean was productive. He must have set a new personal best record for the number of successful hunts he’d gotten under his belt. Bobby’s salvage yard had moved the furthest away from its name since Dean had first set eyes on it, if the number of vehicles that Dean had fixed or patched up a bit in those six weeks was anything to go by. All the while he hadn’t been exactly calm on the inside, either. But at least he hadn’t done anything real stupid, anything that had the charge to catapult itself straight to the number one position of the biggest fuck-up in Dean’s life. 

Fuck, he was feeling uncomfortable. He was gasping with thirst and maybe he should have taken off his jacket. Well, sue him. He’d considered it for a split second but it had felt as if he was about to take off his skin and leave it in the car. Maybe he shouldn’t have smiled at maybe-Mariah and at least saved himself the assault of the white stuff being smeared over his “adorable nose”.

_‘You're so cute when you get all offended.’_  
 _‘You are. You're adorable.’_

He’d started getting high-strung again when the road sign had told him he was just a hundred miles away. (Not that he needed it—the Impala and Dean had this mysterious deal going on where she kind of hummed the mileage straight into his bones, to the last yard sometimes.) Dean had already been sizzling when he drove into town, although that was with nervous energy. The moment he’d parked the car and his feet touched the college campus ground, it was as if electricity ran up his legs, coursing through his body, drying up his fucking mouth, _Jesus fuck, get a grip, you’re only going to see your little brother—_

Dean’s heart lurched and froze for a long moment, just as he did on his spot, eyes widening at the sight in front of him. Stretched out on the steps outside the church, eyes closed and face tipped up to the sun as if _it_ was the god of light, Sam was like a human statue waiting to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_June 2007, Sioux Falls, SD_

_Sam_

In the days after the Devil’s Gate was opened, when demons were so thick on the ground you couldn’t walk without tripping over them, Sam had felt nothing but relief to meet other hunters who seemed halfway trustworthy. There were Tamara and Isaac; and then the guy who wouldn’t give his name but didn’t hesitate to throw himself at that demon who was a half-second away from killing Dean.

And finally the trio who showed up calling themselves the Campbells. Gwen and Christian were a little older than him and Dean, and Matthew probably almost dad’s age, and they worked together like a family. Dean had sensed it, had thrown himself and Sam in with them without hesitation, following Matthew’s lead at a crucial moment to bring down a bad sonuvabitch that would have flattened New Orleans if they’d waited to talk it through. So it wasn’t until things slowed down a bit and they all limped back to Bobby’s to refuel and suture up that they had any time for real conversation.

Sam was out in the shop working on the guns, too wired to sleep after helping Bobby re-wrap Dean’s ribs. The field stitching had almost gone gangrenous and of course Dean hadn’t said a thing until they were safe home and then he started up whining like it was his job. Sam looked up and nodded when Gwen came in but didn’t say anything, just kept sorting ammo and setting aside pieces to be reworked and cleaned.

“We’re third cousins, you and me and Christian, and Matthew’s some kind of distant uncle to all of us.” Gwen looked up at him. “Did Bobby tell you?”

Sam shook his head. “No, he didn’t. But, you said Campbell, I was wondering. Did you tell Dean?” He looked over at her, and she nodded. She was gray with fatigue and still had blood, Dean’s, crusted around her nails. She’d held him down while Sam and Bobby popped his shoulder back into place and was still sitting with him while he muttered feverishly after they’d redone his stitches, when Sam had to leave the room. “What’d he say?”

A hint of color returned to her face and she smirked. “Not much, yet. I think he’s still trying to work out if third cousins is close enough he’ll have to stop hitting on me.” Sam looked up and away, shaking his head slightly. Gwen watched him for a minute, then let out a bark of laughter. “My god you keep him on a tight leash. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick up your brother.”

With no good answer to that, Sam went back to what he was doing, reaching for a rifle with shaking hands. Bobby was right, if he didn’t lie down soon, he was going to pass out. Gwen came up beside him to help, handing him an oiled rag and picking up the next gun in the row. He nodded his thanks and asked, “So, we’re family, and you grew up in the life? How come we never knew about you?”

Gwen shrugged. “We didn’t know about you, either. After my dad died, my mom didn’t talk about him much, we lost touch with the rest of the family until Matthew found us a few years ago. All we knew was my dad used to have some hunter relatives."

Sam narrowed his eyes, filling in branches on the family tree. “Your dad is related to my mother and you grew up hunting?” 

“Sure did. My whole family. Just me and Christian left, though. And now you two.” 

Sam turned to look at her, trying to smile. “Yeah. You know, once Dean gets over the fact he’s been flirting with his own cousin, he’s gonna be thrilled. It’s always just been us, and dad, and…Dean’s always wanted a family.”

“Not you, though?”

Sam laughed slightly and shrugged. “I just want to stay alive long enough to clean up this mess.”

Gwen laughed. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the maudlin one. You know what they say about all work and no play, Sammy.”

That’s when Sam had put down the gun and turned to go, running an unsteady hand through his filthy hair. “It’s Sam.”

Later that night, as Sam lay stretched out on the floor beside the couch where Dean was passed out, his brother’s labored breathing filling the whole room and the sound scratching at Sam’s ears and skin and skull until he was ready to scream, Sam jerked out of a fitful snatch of sleep at the sound of Dean’s rasping laugh, the weak press of Dean’s fingers against his shoulder. In a panic, Sam sat up, laying his hand against Dean’s forehead, peering down into his dull, slitted eyes.

“Dude.” Dean’s voice was slurred, his motions slow like he was moving through molasses, his hand heavy where it came to rest against Sam’s wrist. “Dude, we have a hot cousin.”

Sam bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the feeling of wanting to scream, to throw something through a window just to hear the glass break, increasing to a fever pitch inside his too-tight skin. He nodded.

“And that Matthew…our…uncle? Whatever. He knows his stuff.”

“Yeah, he does.” Sam nodded again and swallowed. “Dean, do you think Mom knew?”

“Nah.” There was a rustle, Dean shaking his head. “She couldn’t have. Dad would have known.”

_But what if that’s why the demon went after her?_ Sam didn’t ask. 

Dean’s eyes drifted closed and he squeezed Sam’s wrist before letting his hand fall to hang off the edge of the couch, just brushing the pillow Sam had co-opted from Bobby’s linen closet.

“We’re gonna be okay, Sammy. Don’tchu worry.”

\---

They worked together just fine, the Winchesters and the Campbells. Matthew, the lone wolf type, was so much like Dad it set Sam’s teeth on edge even as it allowed him a modicum of comfort he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. Matthew was off on his own more often than not, calling them at all hours to join him on a hunt, or clueing them in to something he’d caught wind of elsewhere. The four of them would slide into the Impala — except when Christian felt like driving then he could damn well take his own car and usually Gwen too — and truck out to salt and burn, to exorcize, to banish, to lay to rest. And then, depending on how much blood and grave dirt they all had on their clothes, they’d stop in at a bar or two, sleep it off at their motel, and go on to the next thing.

There’d been more than a few times over the months after the Campbells showed up in their life when they all found themselves at Bobby’s for a stretch and, itching to get out, they’d hit the bars in Sioux Falls, drinking until they couldn’t tell the cue from the eight, until their darts went wide, until Sam and Gwen were falling off their barstools laughing at Dean and Christian. Then Bobby would come collect them, tossing them into the back of his pickup to sober up in the night wind of the drive home. But it stopped being funny, for Sam, as the summer peaked and began the slow descent into autumn; it stopped being fun. 

There was one night in particular, when Dean was working something out in his head that he wouldn’t let Sam ask him about, something Gwen hadn’t picked up on even when Dean challenged her to go shot to shot with him. The stars overhead that night were breathtaking, so many and so bright it hurt to look at them and, sprawled in the back of Bobby’s truck, Sam tipped his face up to soak them in. He was thinking in a kind of blurred, slanting way that the sky reminded him of his brother’s face when he heard the sound of Dean retching over the side of the pickup bed. Sam hauled himself up and crabbed over to Dean, rubbing his back and pressing up against him, trapping warmth between their bodies. Pale and shaking, his freckles standing out like constellations, Dean slumped back down and leaned heavily against Sam, wiping his mouth. Gwen was sleeping with her head in Christian’s lap and Christian had his eyes cracked open, watching them. Dean curled his clean hand into a fist and thumped it against Sam’s thigh, one-two-three, and croaked out, Fuck, Sammy, and Sam said I know even though he didn’t. 

Until he did.

The next morning, while everyone else slept it off, Sam barricaded himself in a corner of the living room and started his research.

Early afternoon, Bobby came in and held out a beer. Sam roused slowly, detaching his hands from where they seemed to have molded to his skull, tangled in his unwashed hair.

“You look like the back end of a bad night. And you weren’t even the idjit puking whiskey in the back of my truck.” He clinked his bottle against Sam’s. “That makes you my favorite Winchester, for now.”

Sam grimaced and took a long pull of his beer. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. So,” Bobby nodded to the computer he’d been hiding behind for six solid hours. “Are you that ready for another hunt, or did you find Dean’s porn stash on that thing?”

Sam shook his head, waving a hand over the machine. “This laptop is a porn-free zone, Bobby. I told Dean next time I found something shady in the downloads I would put a Casa Erotica bumper sticker on the Impala. It’s worked so far.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Gwen’s right. You do keep him on a tight leash.”

Sam forced a laugh. “He needs it.”

“Might be true. Anyway, whaddaya got, kid?”

Sam licked his lips, looking up at Bobby. The old trucker’s expression was bland; he wasn’t going to give Sam any help. 

“Bobby, I’ve been thinking. You know it’s been almost a month since we dealt with a demon we know for sure came out of the gate.”

“True. But they did scatter some. Didn’t exactly stop at county lines.”

“Yeah, I know. But of the couple hundred that got out…I mean, the six of us alone, how many have we wasted? And we keep hearing from your contacts about more. It wasn’t the army Yellow Eyes planned on, they didn’t get their leader and they never got organized, and by now the heavy hitters have mostly been picked off. We haven’t heard anything about a new master plan, or any kind of plan.” He sighed and looked up at Bobby, lifting his eyebrows. “All I’m saying is, we’re almost done with this thing.”

Bobby finished his beer, set it down, and reached for the bottle of whiskey on the bookshelf beside the desk. He poured a drink, offered it to Sam, and when Sam shook his head he downed it himself. Sam sighed through his nose and turned to look out the window. Past the half-drawn curtain he could see Dean in the front yard, leaning under the hood of the Impala, Gwen beside him.

“Bobby,” he said after a minute. “You gotta know I’m thinking of getting out.”

Bobby poured another drink, was looking down into it when Sam turned back to him. Not looking at Sam, Bobby said gruffly, “Well I know it’s damn near killing you, cooling your heels around here with all of us.” Sam tried to protest that us but Bobby spoke right over him. “And I know it’s gonna damn near kill your brother to say goodbye to you again.” 

And that was just it, Sam tried to explain. It didn’t have to be goodbye. “Not this time. Dad’s not here to shove me out the door and say ‘don’t come back’ and yeah, I know, I was an idiot back then, Bobby, but so was he. I’m over it — I’ve forgiven him, I think.”

“Well glory be and hallelujah,” Bobby muttered into his drink. Sam snorted.

“And this time, I can do it right. Make it what I wanted it to be; finish college and have my own life because I want it, not because I’m forcing myself into some kind of bullshit, all-or-nothing choice.”

“So then what,” Bobby asked, “after you finish school? Go out into the real world and play lawyer to the masses?”

Sam shook his head. “Honestly? I don’t think so. I don’t know anymore. But with a degree from Stanford, not even a law degree just something legit in the real world, so many doors would open up to me, I could do anything.”

“Anything, huh? Okay. So if you could do anything, what would you do, Sam?”

Sam didn’t have a good answer. Not having a good answer had been keeping him up nights, had been keeping him from looking this straight in the eyes until now. Dad was gone. Yellow Eyes was rotting in hell. Things were good — better than ever — between him and Dean. All the things he’d ever fought for or fought against, pushed for or pushed against, were gone, vanquished, or resolved. With the addition of being reunited with Bobby and gaining new family in the Campbells. And the way Dean looked at him sometimes, like he was filling up on the sight of him, unabashed and unapologetic, not minding that Sam was looking right back. But still: this life. It wasn’t what he wanted. If only knowing what he didn’t want was any help at all, if only it left a mirror image, some kind of negative impression to map out what he did want. But he just didn’t know anymore. 

He watched Dean, sometimes. Correction — he always watched Dean, it was what he did. He watched how his brother moved, whether it was around Bobby’s workshop or a graveyard or a cramped motel bathroom with his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth and his hair a mess. Didn’t matter where he was, Dean was always the same person. Always knew where he was going, and what he wanted. Out in the yard, Dean looked up. Caught Sam’s eye through the window and tossed him a grin. Sam smiled back and dragged his eyes away, afterimage burning his eyes as he refocused on what was in front of him in the dim and dusty room.

He knew he didn’t want to be a lawyer. He looked down to where he’d been fidgeting with one of Bobby’s ancient books, tracing his fingers over the embossed cover. He’d pulled it down when something on Stanford’s homepage had sparked a memory and he’d gotten lost for almost an hour tracing a thread of a rumor about the La Purisima Mission hauntings. And that had been the best part of his day. Maybe it had been pointless, reading up on a legend that had probably been laid to rest or debunked already. Maybe it was the kind of thing Dad would have yelled at him for wasting his time on, that Dean would have rolled his eyes and called him a nerd for. But that didn’t matter much anymore, and that didn’t change the simple fact that it had, absolutely, been the best part of his day. 

Dean might go on about _Saving people, hunting things,_ but for Sam the mantra was a little different. _Solving puzzles, joining the dots._ And after what they’d been through Sam figured they’d earned the right to their obsessions. He pulled his hand off the book to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, thinking wildly that he should just give in and write a series of how-to books for hunters. _The Complete Idjits Guide to Hauntings._

Bobby asked him if he still knew anybody in Stanford and Sam had to say yes, that most of his friends were probably still there. Finishing up their BAs or moving on to med school or law school, not to mention all the professors he’d gotten to know, and Jess’s family… “Yeah, I still have a lot of ties there.” The ties that, once, had made Palo Alto feel like the first real home he’d ever known, now felt like razor wire, hedging him out, ready to slice into him if he tried to slip back into that old pretense of a life.

“Well,” Bobby dragged the word out, swirling the last swallow of whiskey around his glass. “You know what your daddy would say about that.” Sam gave him a startled look but shut his mouth at Bobby’s raised hand. “Hear me out. Thinking of this like a job which, you know, at the end was the only way your old man knew how to think about anything. What would he say about you going back there, where you got all those loose ends.”

Sam snorted, catching on. “He’d say ‘don’t use the same crapper twice’.”

Bobby gave a grim smile. “Exactly. Then tell me, Sam, what do you want to do? You know, you shouldn’t limit yourself to all this book-learning stuff. I mean look at you, you could try out for basketball or wrestling or football and go pro, make a million bucks for doing a whole lotta nothing you don’t already do for free. And you ain’t half bad with cars and guns, why couldn’t you be a mechanic, or…”

Bobby kept talking; Sam stopped listening. 

When he came and got Sam at Stanford, Dean had thrown everything at him, every weapon in his arsenal that hadn’t worked the first time around. The accusation that Sam was turning his back on reality to live some kind of _Normal, apple-pie life,_ and Sam had countered with _No, not normal. Safe._

It hadn’t been the truth then, and it wasn’t now. Because, back then, he _had_ wanted normal. _Normal_ had been a dirty word in their family, and so _normal_ was what he set his sights on. But _safe_? That had been nothing but a cheap shot aimed low. Dean’s whole life had been about keeping Sam safe, and Sam knew it. Just as Dad’s had been about vengeance against the thing that stole _safe_ from his family, burned _safe_ up on the ceiling and scattered its ashes in the wind. Sam had slowly realized that telling Dean then that he wanted a _safe_ life had been a plea he hadn’t even known he was making, buried down deep in the suggestion that Dean go fuck himself. 

He was staring out the window again. Dean was showing Gwen how to do something on the car, miming the act of reaching under the hood and twisting — maybe the headlights? Dean had been making noise about them for a few weeks now — and she was standing with her hip cocked and one hand lifted to shade her eyes against the sun, looking up at Dean with whiskey-tinged bemusement. Then she said something and Sam could hear Dean’s laugh all the way down to his bones, knew from a hundred thousand memories how the muscles in his back would ripple and bunch when he threw his head back and let loose. He didn’t need to see it but he watched anyway. Soaked it in the way the sun had soaked into his brother’s skin, reflecting his glow. 

He felt like he had a sunburn he didn’t know how to soothe, and it was getting worse by the day.

“Hell,” Bobby was saying. “You could stay here, Sioux Falls University. Go there, live here, no big deal.”

Sam turned back to him with an effort, forced a grin. “Yeah? You gonna make my lunch for me every day and send me off to school, Bobby?”

\---

Dean came in later that evening, leaning around the doorway, looking for Sam. Sam replied to his _Hey_ and stopped there, waiting while Dean lingered on the threshold, peering through the gloom at what Sam was up to. 

“Bobby said you were nose to the books in here. What’s up, putting together a case?” Dean’s voice was too casual, too hopeful.

Sam pressed his lips together, felt his forehead wrinkling, still waiting, knowing Dean would take the burden of speaking first away from him. And after a minute, Dean nodded. He looked away, then back to the book still resting by Sam’s elbow, lines around his mouth deepening. “When?”

Sam braced his hands on his thighs, still undecided if he wanted to be standing for this conversation, and let out a long breath. “Not immediately,” he glanced up to catch the look of blind relief that passed over Dean’s face, then quickly looked away before Dean saw him watching. “But, hopefully, I mean, I’d like to get things together in time for next semester. January.”

“Stanford?”

Sam shook his head, feeling suddenly weary. “They’d take me back, but I dunno Dean, I don’t know if I can go back there, I don’t know if I want to. I _don’t_ want to. That place…it’s just, it’s not really _me_ , anymore, you know?”

He began rooting around the stacks of books and notebooks, shifting things on the desk to avoid seeing the hopeful set of Dean’s jaw. “Bobby said earlier today, he was joking, at least I hope he was joking, that I should go to Sioux Falls U, live here and go there which of course wouldn’t work.” He paused for breath, heard Dean’s muttered, _Of course_ , and barreled ahead. “But, it got me thinking about how many thousands of colleges there are across the country, good ones too. It doesn’t have to be Stanford, it’s just…I gotta do this, I gotta finish this, you know? I got someone on the phone today, actually, I called around a couple places and at one I actually got an admissions counselor who wanted to talk to me, which, I dunno, seems like kind of a miracle, considering how late in the process it is. And they’re interested.” Sam turned his computer around to show Dean what he was looking at.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean gaped at him. “ _Wisconsin_? Of all the places you could go, you’re seriously thinking about _Wisconsin_? There is _nothing_ about that state that does not suck. It’s evil, it’s boring, and it’s cold.”

Sam lifted his hands. “Hey, you know, I’ve dealt with bad weather all my life, what’s the big deal? And we’ve had some good times in Wisconsin.”

“Sam, that’s where I almost got you killed by that Shtriga when you were a kid!”

“That was not your—“ Sam cut himself off, not about to let Dean lead him down that rabbit hole again. Instead he countered with, “Okay, sure, but then later it was the place we got to play lazer tag on your birthday. And then it was the place you saved that kid from drowning and his mom practically jumped you in the street.”

“Clowns, Sam! The _clowns_ were in Wisconsin.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “How is one place really any different from another to people like us? Good and bad times, and _clowns,_ everywhere. Where would _you_ want me to be?”

Dean turned away. “You should know the answer to that by now, Sammy.” 

Sam stood slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sunburn-itch crawled across his shoulders and up his neck. He turned to look out the window, and behind him he heard Dean pouring a drink into the glass Bobby had left behind. The Impala was still sitting out there, soaking up the last of the sunset, her chrome glowing brilliant orange and pink. Sam didn’t know what he would do without the familiar sight to ground him day in and day out. Home had always been the world framed in her windows; would always be a brother in the driver’s seat. But what if the road they were on was a dead-end? Dean would never say anything if it was, not if he thought that was the direction Sam wanted to go.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “And anyway, Dean, how often do you actually get out to California? I mean, compare that to how many times we’ve passed through Wisconsin over the years. Like every couple months, sometimes?” Sam attempted to joke, already knowing it would fall flat.“If I go back to Stanford, I might never see you again, man.” 

Dean downed the rest of his drink, then turned deliberately, setting the glass on the desk with a hollow thunk. He dragged a hand over his mouth then lifted his eyes to Sam’s. 

“This how it’s gonna be, Sammy?”

Sam blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I gotta do this, Dean.”

A muscle jumped in Dean’s jaw, but he only nodded. “Okay. Guess we got some stuff to take care of, then."


	3. Chapter 3

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

“Okay,” Dean rubbed his hands together, approaching the line of cars like a breeder in a stable. He stopped and waited until Sam caught up with him, moving slowly with his hands in his pockets, the early autumn breeze blowing his hair into his face.

“I pulled out a couple options, all of ‘em need some work but they’ll run just fine with a little lovin’, which I am willing to provide like the awesome big brother that I am. However, I don’t think it’s going to be any kind of contest once you see her…” And taking Sam by the arm Dean half-turned him around, pointing over his shoulder at a vintage, cherry-red Chevy. Her chrome glinted in the sun and even missing her windshield and with one whole side crumpled in she managed to look like original-sin-on-wheels.

Sam snorted and shrugged Dean’s hand off his shoulder. “I’m not taking the Impala’s douchey cousin to school with me, Dean. No.”

Dean spread his arms. “What the hell, man? This is a 1977 Monte Carlo.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam lied, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I can see that.”

Dean looked at him like he was well and truly lost for words, then shook his head, muttering about how they couldn’t possibly be related, and moved on with notably less enthusiasm to the next candidate. And then the next when Sam couldn’t muster up a show of enthusiasm for the boat-like Lincoln, either.

“Is there anything here that wasn’t old before I was even born?” Sam asked as Dean kicked the tires of a rusted-out Ford.

“Sorry I’m not gonna fix you up a Prius, princess,” Dean griped. Sam huffed a protest because he knew he had to, keeping his eyes on Dean’s back until his brother leaned down to peer under the hood and his t-shirt hiked up his back, exposing a stretch of pale skin.

“Look,” Sam interrupted the monologue he hadn’t been listening to. “What about Dad’s truck? Why don’t I just take that?”

Dean turned to him. “Ten minutes ago you were being a little bitch about gas prices and city parking and now you want to take dad’s monster truck? What’s going on with you, Sam?”

“Maybe…” Sam shrugged widely, letting his arms fall to his sides, looking out across Bobby’s salvage yard. “Maybe I just don’t feel right taking a car from Bobby, all right? He already does too much for us, and there’s no way I could ever pay him for it. But dad’s truck is just rusting out over there. If you’re really not going to let me go without a car, can’t I just take the one that sort of already belongs to us?”

“That’s what this is about?” Dean shook his head and leaned back against the hood of the Ford. He crossed his arms over his chest and squinted up at Sam. “You don’t think Bobby cares as much as I do about keeping you safe? Come on, Sam. You’re gonna run off and do your own thing, fine. But we’re not letting you go without a reliable vehicle with an arsenal in the trunk. It’s that simple. And,” he added, waving his hands expressively, “it’s not like Bobby ain’t got a car or two to spare.”

Sam sighed and came around to lean up next to Dean against the car. They looked out together over the yard, out across the rows upon rows of cars and trucks, some cannibalized, some nearly whole. Sam heard himself sigh again; seemed like lately he hadn’t been doing much else. The sun was hanging low in the sky but the car was still radiating its heat beneath them. It’d been a blistering day, he and Dean getting down to their t-shirts helping Bobby haul in a load of equipment that came in that morning, and where Dean’s bare arm pressed lightly against his he felt a layer of dust and grit and dried sweat and beneath that a glow of heat more tangible, more oppressive, than the hot metal they were leaning against. He knocked his shoulder against Dean’s for the excuse to move himself away afterwards, and pointed across from where they sat to a rusty red Renault, lifting his eyebrows.

Dean shook his head, shooting him a disgusted look. “Like I’d let my little brother go off in some foreign whackjob car.”

Sam rolled his eyes, shifting to indicate a small silver Honda, just to be annoying. Dean shook his head again. “No hatchbacks. Trunk’s not secure enough.”

Sam laughed and pushed himself up off the Ford, wandering away down a row of cars, not looking to see if Dean was following, hearing the crunch of boots against gravel just behind him until he stopped by a smallish, boxy Buick. It looked like a brick, nothing obviously broken about it besides a long crack in the windshield that was dotted with admission stickers to national parks. It was a scratched and faded sky blue with matching plush interior. Sam saw his small smile reflected in the driver side window and turned back to Dean, tilting his head at the car. “This one, then, or I’m going back inside.”

Dean groaned. “Dude, this is a grandma car.”

Sam’s smile turned into a full-on grin. “Then if anyone asks, I’ll say my grandma gave it to me.”

“Oh yeah? And where’s grandma now?” Dean asked, eyes narrowing. Testing.

Sam opened his mouth, a half-dozen stories springing to mind, then heard Dean’s voice in his head, coaching him. _One lie leads to ten more and soon you can’t remember who you told what._ So he answered simply, “Dead.”

Dean hid a small smile in a shake of his head. _That’s my boy._ He circled the car slowly, appraising, probably hoping to find something to disqualify it right away. But after a few minutes he stepped back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Doesn’t look like she’s about to explode or anything.”

“Good,” Sam said, turning back towards the house. “Then come on, I’m starving.”

He looked back to see Dean still staring at the car, shoulders slumped. With a groan, Sam turned and grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt to haul him along, back into the house for dinner.

\---

She was a 1989 Buick LeSabre, Dean told Bobby over steaks on the porch. Dean glanced over as he said it, and at Sam’s shit-eating grin, Dean chucked a stem of broccoli that he wasn’t going to eat anyway at his head. Sam only just ducked to miss it.

“That’s why you want that one?” Dean glared at him.

Sam shook his head, still grinning, but offered no stronger denial. It wasn’t why, not originally, but he loved that that’s where Dean’s mind went; a memory almost as old as Sam himself that they hadn’t spoken of in a decade or more. Dean rubbed his hands over his face and groaned into his palms.

“You mind spelling it out for an old man whose brain don’t run on the same wavelength as yours?” Bobby grumped. 

“It’s because it sounds like _lightsaber_ ,” Dean muttered behind his hands, then lifted his head to glare at Sam. “Really, Sammy?”

Sam offered his most innocent face and a small shrug. “I was, like, seven, Dean. Star Wars was the only cool thing, thanks to you, and Dad didn’t exactly help, did he?”

The story came out in halting bursts between Dean trying not to laugh and Sam not trying to stop laughing, with Bobby looking between them like they were a couple of first-class committable idiots. A whole summer spent on the road in the back of a stolen LeSabre, Dean deflecting Sam’s questions (why did we leave town; where’s _our_ car; why does Dad keep going into the woods alone; why do you have a gun?) with an epic, ongoing story about how they — Dad, Dean and Sam Winchester — were the last of the Jedi Knights and they were tracking down an evil Sith Lord (the Emperor sent his spies after us; we had to leave the Impala in docking bay 94 to avoid being followed; Dad’s the only one strong enough in the Force to attack these guys; it’s not a gun, Sammy, it’s a blaster). Sam realized, as he snorted into his beer, that he still had no idea what Dad had actually been hunting.

“Well I suppose it’s as good a choice as any,” Bobby said finally, when he could get a word in. “Solid. Do good in the winter, all that. We’ll pull it into the shop tomorrow, give it a once-over and go from there.”

It was dark and the fireflies were out before they cleaned their plates and finished off their beers. Dean stood first and Sam handed up his plate, then left his hand hovering in midair in front of Dean, who frowned down at him. “What?”

“Help me Obi-Dean Kenobi,” Sam simpered, “You’re my only hope.”

Dean smacked his hand away and stalked into the house. Sam followed, still laughing.

\---

They didn’t get to the car right away. 

The day after Sam picked her out they were woken before dawn by Matthew, Gwen, and Christian stumbling into the house and calling out for help, bandages, and whiskey.

Sam and Dean left at sunup on the trail of the monsters their cousins had been hunting. There were only two left, the two that had done a neat job of almost killing Christian, but fresh as Sam and Dean were, well-prepared and backed by Matthew’s hard-bought words of advice, they took them out easily enough. 

“Or maybe we’re just awesome,” Dean countered. A gouge along his hairline dripped blood down his temple, and the flick of his eyebrows finished his thought for him. _We make a hell of a team, Sammy._

Sam stood beside Dean that evening as his brother finished scattering iron buckshot over the grave, drinking the last lukewarm beer from the cooler and watching Dean’s short, sure motions. He didn’t waste time or energy adding flair to his actions, like Christian did, or second-guessing himself, like was gonna get Gwen killed one of these days. 

Thinking about their family, their newfound family, made Sam’s lips curl around the neck of his bottle, something bitter and unwelcome sliding down his throat along with the beer to settle in his stomach and with a feeling a _deja vu_ he watched Dean lift his cell phone to his ear, listened to his conversation with Matthew, heard him give the report, checking in with their status and ETA. 

“Sammy?”

Sam startled, eyes coming into focus already fixed on Dean’s face, the glow of the torched grave smoldering between them. Sam shook himself, smiling automatically, the expression morphing from forced to fond as he watched Dean’s face fall into worried-big-brother-mode. 

“I’m good, Dean. Just thinking.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Sam laughed and looked away, then back, and he held out the bottle he’d been nursing. Dean came around the fire and took it, leaning up against the Impala beside him.

“So. You’re thinking. I’ll alert the media.”

Sam hip-checked him, not moving away from the warm press of their too-close bodies. “Shut up.”

“That’s supposed to be my line. You’re the talkative one in the family, remember?” Dean took a long drink, eyes shut, then turned to face Sam, blinking slowly. “This is disgusting.”

Sam laughed again. It was all he could do, sometimes. Laugh along and try to keep his grin from splitting his face in two. “Not my fault we didn’t stop for ice. Or fresh beer. I think that’s from after we broke out of Green River County.”

Dean made an exaggerated gagging sound and passed the bottle back to Sam, who took it and drained it easily.

They broke curfew that night. That’s how it felt to Sam, anyway; he’d heard Dean with his own ears tell Matthew they were leaving soon and heading home to Bobby’s, back before midnight. But after the fire burned down and they’d shoveled the dirt back in to fill the grave they hit up an all-night gas station on their way out of town and, without comment, Dean pulled over a few miles later, cruising them down an unmarked country lane until they had a clear view of the stars and they spread their jackets over the hood of the Impala, stretching out next to each other and passing the bottle of whiskey between them until Sam fell asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder.

\---

The LeSabre was in good shape, all things considered. 

They didn’t get to working on her until mid-October, back from a long trek picking off a troupe of Devil’s Gate demons all across the southwest. Bobby had pulled her (it was incontrovertibly a _her_ , now, with both Bobby and Dean referring to her that way and Dean calling her _Your Highness_ nearly as often as he called Sam himself _Princess_ ) into the shop while they were gone, because the locks had come in. One of Bobby’s contacts had taken to making pure iron locks for cars and homes with banishing sigils and any other symbol you wanted engraved into the inner workings. It was _haute couture_ in demon-repelling — bells and whistles even the Impala didn’t have.

As soon as Dean heard about the locks he dragged Sam out to check on her before they’d had a chance to clean up or get some food or a badly-needed drink. With their breath hanging foggy in the chill air, Sam hunkered down into his jacket, missing the arid Arizona air as much as, an hour ago, he’d been craving being home at Bobby’s. But Dean was oblivious, inspecting the new parts, making approving noises at the small tinkerings Bobby had done while they were gone, calling on Sam to share his excitement.

“Yeah, it’s great, Dean,” Sam finally snapped, too far gone down the path of righteous indignation even to take his hands out of his pockets, spreading his coat wide like a bat’s wings. “Awesome. Really. Can we go inside now? I haven’t slept in two days, I’m goddamn freezing, and I can smell myself. So I’m sorry if I’m not really in the mood to play along with you right now.”

Dean dropped the wrench he was holding onto the workbench and stalked closer to him, repeating, “Play along with me?”

Sam drew himself up, glaring down at his brother. “I didn’t even want you to do this in the first place. And look at you, you’re as exhausted as I am and you’ve been driving for ten hours on nothing but beef jerky and, oh yeah, _whiskey_ — don’t give me that crap, I _saw you_ at the gas station. This,” he said, gesturing wildly around them, taking in the car, the shop, all of Dean’s ambitions to send him off in the best car possible. “This doesn’t mean shit to me right now, Dean. What I want is for us to go inside and get some food and go to sleep, okay?”

Dean stared at him, his expression blank, face pale beneath freckles and sunburn. Finally he turned away, walked back over to the Buick, laid a hand on its hood. Sam recognized the gesture, he’d seen him reach out to the Impala like that often enough. Sam made a sound in his throat like the start of a sentence but Dean cut him off, looking back over his shoulder at Sam with a glare that sealed his mouth shut. 

“Would you just let me do this for you, Sam?” Dean bent to rest both hands flat against the hood of the Buick, hanging his head for a moment, gathering himself.

Sam hunched his shoulders, jaw tight, not looking at Dean. 

Dean turned and ran his hand over his mouth, squaring off against Sam but not looking at him, either. “I mean, come on, dude. I can’t…it’s not like I can give you, you know, college advice. Or _real life_ advice. Hell, I can’t even give you any money until the next credit card comes in and then it won’t even be from me it’ll be courtesy of John Frusciante or whoever the hell I put down this time.”

Sam’s eyes darted to Dean’s, away again, finally back to his face. The determined set of his jaw, the raw, open pleading Sam read in his eyes. 

“So could you just…just let me do this for you, okay?” 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, breaking eye contact. “Okay, Dean. Yeah.” 

“Okay,” Dean echoed, patting the car one final time and walking away from it. Sam was carefully looking away, and definitely did not see the way Dean lifted his hand to his face, scrubbing over his mouth and then, quickly, his red-rimmed eyes. “Come on then, princess. Let’s get some food in you before you have a real meltdown.” 

Sam trailed after Dean, turning to glance over his shoulder at the car — _his ___car — before flipping off the workshop lights.

After that, when Dean was in the workshop, so was Sam. They lugged in space heaters so they could work late into the chilly October, November, December nights. They brought each other coffee and whiskey and sandwiches and traded off the dirty jobs: before long it was Dean perched up on the workbench eating his supper and heckling Sam where he lay, greasy and grunting, beneath the car. It wasn’t especially fast going, but Dean didn’t seem to be in any hurry. The jobs were still coming, one after another. Maybe a week on the road and then back to Bobby’s to crash and install a new belt or work on the brakes, then out the door again. 

__A routine Sam felt like they were just settling into and then January rolled around and suddenly it was time to start packing, time to start saying goodbye._ _

__\---_ _

__The day before Sam left for college, Ellen and Jo showed up at Bobby’s house._ _

__The Campbells had cleared out the night before, tracking rumors of a Wendigo near the border. They’d call in a few days, they said, check in with Dean when they found the next hunt. The house had been quiet most of the day, until a heavy knock was followed by Ellen calling, “Singer! You open for business?” and pushing through the door. Sam got up from where he’d been sitting with Dean, trying to focus on _Temple of Doom_ on the fuzzy TV, stupidly grateful for the distraction. _ _

__“Here,” Jo said, pushing a brown paper sack into Sam’s hands. He unfolded the rumpled top and pulled out an old silver flask, badly charred and heavily engraved and full of holy water. He cocked his head at Jo and she gave him a small smile. “It belonged to Ash. We’ve been going through the Roadhouse and I found it last week. I know he’d get a kick out of you having it.”_ _

__Sam looked after her as she brushed past him to hug Dean. Ellen shook her head and glared up at him. “You know it’d be better all around if you two would hurry up and die bloody so she’d get over this whole notion that hunting can ever have a happy ending. But hell,” she said, shaking herself and giving Sam a genuine smile and a fierce hug. “You’re getting out, and that’s something to celebrate. Congratulations, Sam.”_ _

__Bobby made dinner and poured drinks and they sat around the living room, Ellen discussing their case with Bobby and Dean while Sam sat beside Jo at her laptop, helping her track down a grave._ _

__“Jackpot!” She turned to Sam with a grin. “That’s gotta be it, right?”_ _

__Sam scanned the page, nodding. “Yeah, it makes sense. Nice work.”_ _

__She tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned back in her seat, looking at the research scattered over the table, both of them turning when the others burst out laughing at something they hadn’t heard._ _

__“After all this,” Jo asked him, “after everything, you really want to just drop it and go back to the so-called real world?”_ _

__He looked at her. Head tilted, she was watching him with open curiosity. He let out a breath and looked away, nodding. “Yeah, actually. I got some stuff I need to finish.”_ _

__Jo shook her head. “I don’t get you, Sam. And let me tell you, you’re not making my life any easier. Mom hasn’t shut up about you getting out of the life since she heard.”_ _

__Sam tried not to smile. “I bet. Sorry about that.”_ _

__Jo snorted. “No you’re not. But it’s fine. I’ll even be nice and promise to look out for your brother for you. I’ve been hunting on my own sometimes, when my mom starts to drive me so crazy I gotta get away. He could join me anytime. I can mostly promise I won’t get him killed.”_ _

__Sam kept his eyes trained on Dean to avoid looking at Jo. There seemed to be a bucket of ice water lodged in his chest that the universe thought it was funny to keep plunging his heart into. Dean looked up abruptly and caught Sam staring at him, held eye contact for a couple of heartbeats before pushing himself away from the desk and stalking out of the room. Sam was on point of following him when he returned, holding a bottle of whiskey._ _

__“Okay,” Dean said. “Time to start drinking.”_ _

__“You know,” Sam said, hours later, reaching for the bottle. The fire had burned down to ashes and Bobby was snoring beside it. “You know, Jo’s not a half-bad hunter for having been sheltered from it her whole life.”_ _

__“Yeah. Sheltered. ’Til she met us,” Dean grumbled, tucking his hands into his armpits and hunkering down into his chair. Distantly, Sam registered that it was cold in the house but he just felt like he was floating, Dean’s voice coming to him like he was underwater. “Her mom, man. She wants the moon for that kid. She’d do anything to get Jo where you’re at.”_ _

__Sam shook his head. “That’s not my point, Dean, the point is, it’s. The point is. Jo doesn’t want to get out. And man, she’s good at what she does, Dean, so—“_ _

__“What are you going to say, Sam? That the path chooses the walker? That’s bullshit and you know it.”_ _

__“I’m just saying, the two of you could—“_ _

__“What, hunt together?” Dean scoffed. “Jo could do anything she wants with her life, she’s not gonna waste it on account of me. I’m already stuck with a moron for a kid brother, I don’t need some airhead little sister to worry about too, no thanks.”_ _

__“’Little sister’?” Sam echoed, the world coming into focus around Dean’s lips. “I thought you wanted to get into her pants.”_ _

__Dean gave his ‘yeah, well, whatever’ shrug that had Sam swallowing half the drink he’d been planning to hand over to Dean. “What are you saying, Dean? That you can’t do the job if you’re saddled with someone you care about?”_ _

__Dean shrugged again, and Sam passed him the glass, deciding he didn’t want any more, that the world already spinning quite enough._ _

__Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m just saying. She…and Ellen…they, they could have your back, if you let them. Like Bobby does, and I do.”_ _

__“The hell’s your point, Sammy?”_ _

__Sam tugged on Dean’s sleeve, making his brother look over at him. “Point is, you gotta promise me you’ll let them. Let the people who care about you, even the Campbells, let them look out for you. There’s other people who can watch your back, just like me.”_ _

__Dean turned to look him full in the face. “How the hell am I…” He trailed off and shook his head, downed the rest of his drink, the ice clinking in the glass and cracking between his teeth, and he reached for the bottle. “When it comes to real smarts one of us got stuck in the shallow end of the gene pool and thank God it wasn’t me. No one’s just like you, Sam, no one ever will be. So whatever, man. Whatever lets you sleep at night.”_ _

__\---_ _

It was a six-hour drive from Bobby’s house to the University of Madison, Wisconsin. 

Sam wasn’t even an hour outside South Dakota when everything he’d been avoiding, all the things he’d kept shoved down and locked away, it all came knocking at once and he pulled over at a truck stop to rest his pounding head against the steering wheel. He shifted and the plush fabric of the driver’s seat whispered against his jeans, so soft and mellow compared to the protesting creak of denim-on-leather in the Impala when he got restless and anxious. 

“God damn it,” Sam muttered, wanting to beat his hand against the steering wheel but strangely unwilling to start his relationship with his new car on a violent note. “God _damn_ it.” 

The night hadn’t gotten any better after Dean turned away from him and started drinking straight from the bottle. It had all been building to that, Sam knew, to Dean holding onto himself as best he could to keep from taking his last chance to beg Sam to stay. Months of being conscientiously cool with Sam’s choice to leave, months where Dean was as likely to bring it up as Sam, as likely to start that conversation and spare Sam the pain of feeling like he was bullying Dean into a care-and-share session his brother would rather have avoided. He should have known. He was an idiot for not knowing this was how it was going to go. But all the planning in the world couldn’t actually prepare them for splitting up like this. Hell, he’d known that when he was just a stupid teenager, that’s why he took off like he did for Stanford, middle of the night and hardly any warning at all. Like pulling off a band-aid or relocating a shoulder. Just fucking do it and get it over with. 

But that was the wrong analogy for them, right now. There’s nothing to _get over_ , right? _Right, Sammy_ , the bitchy, sarcastic voice in his head chimed in. _Nothing to get over except how your brother has been dominating your entire field of vision these past six months._ He rubbed his temples and stared sightlessly out the window. He’d woken in the middle of the night in Dean’s bed without remembering how he got there, wrapped around his big brother like Dean was a giant teddy bear and Sam was a scared kid seeking security in something familiar. That’s what he told himself as he got up to pee and get a glass of water from the kitchen. _Comfort,_ he said. _Nothing wrong with that._ He drank two glasses and poured a third, leaving it on the bedstand by Dean and crawling into his own cold, squeaky bed, dreading the hangover he already felt brewing behind his eyes. 

He’d call Dean as soon as he got to Madison, or after he got settled in to his new house. Or text him, maybe. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with it if Dean didn’t answer. Yeah — he’d text Dean to let him know he’d arrived, and let his brother take it from there. Everything was going to be fine. He’d get to his new house, check out the town, see what was what. Classes would start and he’d remember why he was doing this. And the fact that he wouldn’t have Dean in sight, within reach, every moment of every day, was going to be fine. Normal people didn’t pine for the press of their brother’s fingers against their skin, normal people didn’t frame travel time in terms of _X more miles until I get to text my brother._ Normal people didn’t have a reason to linger every time they said goodbye, legitimately wondering if it was the last time they were going to lay eyes on the one component of the world that made everything else fit together and made everything mean something; the magic ingredient that made it all worth something. This wasn’t normal, Sam knew. He wasn’t; they weren’t. What he wasn’t sure of yet was how much that mattered to him. Or whether it did at all. 

\--- 

[Sam. 9AM]  
Hey, made it safe, getting things sorted out. 

[Dean]  
Good. Keep your eyes open, we don't know how many of them are still out there 

[Sam]  
Everything okay with you? 

[Dean]  
Yeah, I'm good 

[Sam]  
Okay. Well, take care of yourself, Dean. All right? Don't let the Campbells talk you into doing anything stupid. 

[Dean]  
What do you think I am, five? They're family, they got my back 

[Sam]  
Sure, family we didn't know existed six months ago who are as set on keeping you in the life as dad ever was. Sorry if I don't find that reassuring. 

Look Dean, I'm sorry. We’ve had this argument already, and not just once, man. I guess I just got used to always knowing where you were, it's freaking me out a little. It's almost like we're back where we started. 

[Dean, after ten minutes.]  
You can't keep anyone in the life. Look at you, you wanted out, you got out. They couldn't keep you in, nothing could. I'm right where I wanna be. 

I'm still at Bobby's 

[Sam]  
Yeah, I know, I talked to him yesterday. Apparently I can't even go a day without seeing demonic omens in my diner pancakes. Bobby didn't think it was anything, though. Heh. You really think I'm out of the life? Try telling my subconscious that. 

Anyway, glad you're okay, just promise you'll be careful when you head back out, all right? 

[Dean]  
Bobby told me about it. Doesn’t matter if you think you’re imagining things, you see anything, you call. Doubt the demons got the memo that you were out 

[Sam]  
Okay, Dean. You too, okay? Doesn’t even have to be something bad, just call me once in a while, all right? 

[Dean]  
Ok.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and every text exchange between Sam and Dean was role-played in real time. We did them without any preparation or agenda—we had zero idea what would come out of each of them and in a sense, we left the characters to shape the story.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Last week of January 2008_

[Dean texts. 11:50PM]  
Hey where are you? You ok? I called and left you voicemail half an hour ago.

[Sam, after three minutes.]  
Could you try to remember not everyone likes to be woken up in the middle of the night? What's wrong?

[Dean]  
Sorry princess. I thought you were out partying. Guess not, once a dork, always a dork. Nothing's wrong, just wanted to check on you, can’t remember when I talked to you last, must be five days

It's been real quiet on the demon front lately but that’s just making me antsy

Don't call, can't talk right now, waiting for a dude to show up, I'm right under his bedroom window

[Sam]  
Dude, what the hell! Call me.

[Dean]  
Stop calling

The guy's ex-boyfriend is in the freaking bedroom, told you I can't talk, he can hear me. Not everyone's asleep by ten like you

[Sam]  
What "guy" what the hell, Dean? I'm busy trying not to have a complete freakout over here.

[Dean]  
Dude chill. I'm helping a friend of Bobby's, Rufus. Dude's worse than Bobby, talk about grumpy old. He got it into his head it's a shifter job so I interviewed his suspect and now I'm lurking under his bedroom window like a freaking pervert cuz Rufus still thinks it's him

Stop freaking out, jesus, forgot what a drama queen you are, worse than Jim's boyfriend

Jim’s the suspect

Hey, what's with the quotation marks on guy?

[Sam, after a couple of minutes]  
Nothing. Look just be careful and call me in the morning. Or some other halfway reasonable time. Okay?

[Dean]  
I'm always careful 

Everything ok, Sammy?

[Sam]  
Yeah, I guess so. You? Think it's a shifter?

[Dean]  
What do you mean you guess so? I know you, come on, spit it out. 

Not a shifter, just a cheating douchebag. But Rufus is old school and wants all his angles covered. I'm freezing my ass off out here and I'm bored outta my skull

[Sam]  
Wow, Bobby's got you working the big boy jobs. Nice. 

[Dean]  
Bitch. You taking extra lessons in snark this semester? Come on. Something got your panties in a bunch, Sammy?

[Sam]  
I don't need to take lessons, I grew up with you, jerk. So, what, you're gonna wait out there perving til the sun comes up?

[Dean]  
Haha. So what you're gonna stay in bed sad and alone til the sun comes up? I'd rather lurk under some dudes bedroom window and maybe waste a shifter.

You are sad and alone, right?

[Sam]  
Oh yeah, it's just me and my right hand and a bottle of Jamo. I'm a sob story over here.

So are you picking up any bedroom tips from the douchebag you're perving?

[Dean, after ten minutes.]  
Dude's back, def not a shifter. Maybe not a cheater, some action going on already, I'm outta here. Talk to you soon, you watch that wrist

[Sam]  
Yeah you too, you gotta have some major frustration to work out after creeping outside some guy's window all night. Go easy on the motel bed, all right?

[Dean]  
I'm awesome, I don't need any tips. You shoulda been out there, bet you could learn a thing or two

[Sam]  
Now you're just being gross. Get some sleep and call me later. 

[Dean]  
Night's still young for me

Night, Sammy.

[Sam]  
Where are you that the night could possibly still be young.

[Dean, after ten minutes.]  
Night's always young when you know where to go, how many times have I told you that? Go to sleep, I'll talk to you soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_First week of February 2008_

 

[Sam texts. 10:30PM]  
I heard the police in Bullhead City are asking if anyone has any tips on a pervert who's been lurking under gay guys’ windows. Know anything about that? Could be your kind of thing.

 

[Dean]  
Dude, I was working.

And that could never be my kind of thing, Sammy, you know that. I'm not the guy under the bedroom window. I'm the guy in the bedroom, getting some action

 

[Sam]  
Oh yeah, that's right, my mistake. What's up tonight then, business or pleasure?

 

[Dean]  
You?

 

[Sam]  
Me what?

 

[Dean]  
What are you up to tonight, business or pleasure?

Or is it all pleasure for you now, college boy?

 

[Sam]  
Both, actually. I'm just leaving a bar, but I wasn't drinking much. Working. Got a job.

 

[Dean]  
Sammy, you watch those baby giraffe legs.

Wait. You got a job in a bar? Dude!

 

[Sam]  
Yeah. No big deal. I was here the other night and one of the bartenders is my TA. I was kind of trying to avoid the girl I was here with so I ended up talking to him all night, and yeah. I dunno. Good luck for me, I guess.

 

[Dean]  
Don't play it down, Sammy, good for you!

Plus I can finally be the big brother of the cool kid. Took you long enough.

And what kind of a schmuck goes to a bar with a chick then tries to ditch her? You gotta prepare yourself, dude, chicks will be all over you now, going for the hot bartender.

 

[Sam]  
Yeah, I did it all for you, Dean, you caught me.

I didn't go there WITH her, man, it was a set up! Not my fault. I thought we were just going to shoot pool but then Brandon's girlfriend brought her roommate. She's okay, I guess, but still. More your type than mine.

 

[Dean]  
You mean attractive, charming, witty, knows how to hold her liquor and wild in bed? How is that NOT your type?

So tell me about the job. You wanted to get a job? You doing ok for money?

 

[Sam]  
Well, it's a brewpub called the Great Dane. I'm starting in the kitchen so don't go bragging about me yet. But since I did some bartending at Stanford (did I ever tell you that?) Aaron thinks I'll probably move up before long since they just lost a couple of people.

Her name is Toby. She has pink hair and a lip ring.

 

[Dean]  
It's like you don't know me, man. Although the lip ring sounds kinda hot

You'll make bartender in weeks. Your freaky head is used to remembering long spells in Latin and you handle a knife like it's an extension of your hand. I bet you'll manage to shake a mean cocktail. Lord knows you've shaken enough salads!

You never told me about your bartending stint at Stanford.

 

[Sam]  
Oh, and she likes Greenday and drives a Prius.

I think you're more excited about this than I am. You'll have to come by sometime.

 

[Dean]  
What, so you can insult me by throwing douchey girls at me? I'll pass!

Fine, whatever, play it cool. But I'm allowed to be excited and proud of my brother for not going for some lame ass job

 

[Sam]  
By the time I make bartender you'll be so sick of Gwen and Christian you'll be begging to come hang out with me and you know it!

But thanks, Dean.

And I promise not to throw any girls at you if you visit.

Unless you want me to.

Hey jerk, you never said what you were doing. Are you on a job?

 

[Dean]  
Out with the car, went for a drive. Sitting on the hood, having a beer

 

[Sam]  
Somewhere warm and far from here, I bet. God, that sounds good.

Clear night?

 

[Dean]  
So many stars it's painful on the eye

 

[Sam]  
We should have done that more.

 

[Dean]  
Yeah, well. Things to hunt, people to save

You cold Sammy?

 

[Sam]  
Freezing. Just biked home through the start of a snowstorm. Drunk bicycling? I don't recommend it. My room is freezing. Missing Bobby's moonshine, that'd go down easy right now.

 

[Dean]  
What the hell is wrong with you? You don't ride a bike drunk! I'mma stay in the car for a while before I drive cuz I'm starting to see even more stars. You shoulda stayed in that bar or got someone to give you a ride

And I bet you went out in just that stupid jacket didn't you?

 

[Sam]  
Dude, chill, I'm fine. I'm not that drunk, I'm not stupid. I thought you'd think it was funny, that's all.

Again, I'm FINE. Jesus, ten million miles away and you're still playing dad. Adorable.

 

[Dean]  
You're adorable

You know what I mean.

And can you cut it out with how far I am?? I'm far, I get it

Just don't wanna think of you freezing in your freezing room, is all

 

[Sam]  
Okay, spaz. I'll be fine.

I am adorable. Glad you didn't forget already.

 

[Dean]  
Not gonna happen, Sammy

You got yourself warm in your bed?

 

[Sam]  
Yeah. I'm cozy.

You still out there?

 

[Dean]  
Yeah. Gonna get in the car and catch some shuteye, can't drive without you with me

You can take the wheel I mean, but now you can't so I better stay put until it's safe to take off

Man I'd kill for a bed

 

[Sam]  
You okay, Dean?

 

[Dean, after a couple of minutes]  
Yeah, Sammy. You go to sleep and stay warm, ok?

 

[Sam]  
I will if you will. Promise you're gonna sleep it off and not try to drive anywhere soon, all right?

 

[Dean]  
Told you I wont. Who's dad now?

 

[Sam]  
Shut up, jerk. Can't drive without me, you said so.

 

[Dean]  
Still older I can do whatever I want. Now pull up the covers to your nose, princess and get to sleep

 

[Sam]  
I'm drunk, not 4, D :)

 

[Dean]  
trust me I know you're not 4

 

[Sam]  
Yeah, I'm kinda tall for 4.

 

[After five minutes]  
Dean. Hey Dean. You sleeping?

 

[Dean]  
Trying

Go to sleep, baby boy

 

[Sam]  
K. Night D. Be safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas.♥


	6. Chapter 6

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Second week of February 2008_

 

[Dean texts. 11:25PM]  
You already in bed, sleeping beauty?

[Sam]  
No, I'm waiting up for prince charming.

[Dean]  
That's nice. You pout plenty, someone's gonna fall for it and give you a kiss

[Sam]  
Hey, don't knock the pout, it's never failed me in the past.

[Dean]  
Not knocking it, man, I've seen you work it since the age of one. You been trying it on college chicks? Or using the puppy dog thing?

[Sam]  
Do you really have a weird label for every face I make? 

[Dean]  
Dude, nothing weird about it, everyone can see your pretty princess faces

[Sam]  
You know I only make my princess face for you.

Anyway, dude, what the hell took you so long getting back to Bobby's, I thought the thing was wrapped.

[Dean]  
Do you?

[Sam]  
Do I what?

Do I bat my eyelashes at any jerk who looks at me?

No.

[Dean]  
That wasn't what I asked but whatever. 

Job was wrapped but man, there was so much slime and grime to wash off, I thought my skin was going to come off! Bobby did some stitching after, so now I'm good, whiskey on the outside and in the inside

[Sam]  
What needed stitching? Thank god for Bobby's infinite whiskey and hot water.

[Dean]  
No big. And yeah, Bobby's awesome

[Sam]  
So what does my princess face look like?

This could be important information for me to know. 

Gotta play to my strengths, or whatever.

[Dean]  
What so you can bat your eyelashes at someone who's NOT a jerk?

[Sam]  
I do occasionally interact with non-jerks

[Dean]  
And you want your brother to tell you how to play your pretty face for them

Didn't think you were doing the princess face for me only, I was right. Pants on fire

[Sam]  
Do you think you'll ever stop being 12, Dean?

[Dean, after two minutes]  
No need to make any special effort, Sammy. You just gotta be yourself

[Sam]  
Okay not 12, 20. That sounded disturbingly like the pre-prom pep talk you gave me when I was 16. You are drunk, brother.

[Dean]  
Maybe I am. Night, Sam

You be careful, alright

[Sam, after five minutes]  
Right. You too, take care of yourself. Let me know when you're heading out again.

—

[Next day, around 2 PM, Sam texts.]  
Dude, you were so out of it last night.

[Dean, after two minutes]  
You know how its like after a hunt

[Sam]  
Yeah.

Hey, what was that thing you and me and dad tracked through Georgia my junior year? 

[Dean]  
Dad thought it was a succubus, but I still think it might have been a siren. He said sirens were just a myth, but hey, they're all just a myth first until you're facing their ugly-ass faces

Though that one was hot

On camera anyway, we never got her after all

[Sam]  
Yeah, good thing we didn't or I would have had to rescue your sorry ass (again). You wouldn't have stood a chance especially if it really was a siren. 

You know that project I told you about for my anthro class, me and Brandon are doing imported myths in the American south and if sirens have half the power people give them credit for, that is not a creature I ever want to run up against. 

[Dean]  
I bet you're loving it, geek boy

My ass would have been fine, I was so gonna be the one to charm the pants off that siren

[Sam]  
Yeah, I am, actually. I mean, it's weird, you know, it all took a while to get used to, but it's good. 

A lot better than the first time I tried this, definitely.

And yeah, freaking right. Do you know what she would have done to you? She was going to literally eat you alive. And you were going to like it, too, that's the really freaky part. Even you would never get so hard up you'd think that was an even trade.

[Dean]  
There are worse ways to die.

And like you would have been immune to it! I was gonna have to save YOUR sorry ass

Sammy, about what you said, about college life. I’m glad for you.

[Sam]  
You don't have to get all mushy on me, Dean. I know. 

Do you want me to not talk about it?

[Dean]  
Will you cut that crap, it's freaking annoying. Fine, I'm never telling you anything nice again

[Sam]  
Hey, chill out. I didn't mean anything by it

[Dean]  
Yeah? Sure didn't sound like it

And no, actually, YOU are annoying but it's still fine if you wanna talk about it

[Sam]  
Your face is annoying.

[Dean]  
Yeah, annoyingly attractive, I know

[Sam]  
Look, it's just that it's weird, okay, after everything, for me to be gone again but you're still out there. You wouldn't even talk to me last time I left for how long? So I get it that you probably don't want to hear about all the stuff I'm doing out here. But you let me go, and you're still talking to me, and that's enough. You don't need to grin and bear it and say things you don't mean for me to know that we're okay.

[Dean]  
Dude, chill. It's fine, honestly.

And that's not what I remember about last time you left

[Sam]  
Don't tell me to fucking chill, okay?

No? What then?

[Dean calls Sam.]

[Sam texts.]  
I can’t talk, I’m in the library.

[Dean]  
What the hell is your problem?

[Sam]  
What's my problem? I'm fine, Dean. I'm great.

[Dean]  
Yeah, no kidding! That's why you tried to bite my head off?

I don't even know what set you off this time

[Sam]  
Nothing set me off!

You don't get it.

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
No, I really don't. You're in college, like you wanted to be, and I'm fine with it, being supportive, whatever. So I just don't get why you're pissed. I mean, what freaky scenarios you're playing in that head of yours? Because whatever it is, it sure doesn't sound like I'm part of it

[Sam]  
It's just, what is it with our family, man, that we can never be happy where we are?

Or is that just me?

[Dean]  
So what...you're telling me you're not happy there?

Listen, I mean it. If it's about me, what I think, well, it shouldn't be.

But I am oh-kay, for real!

Just missing your freaky encyclopedia head

[Sam]  
Right. That's what you miss about me.

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
Yeah, whatever, dude

Now get back to your studies.

[Sam]  
Yeah, I should. 

Look, I'm sorry. You know.

[Dean]  
I'll catch you later, Sammy, alright?

[Sam]  
Yeah, you bet. Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	7. Chapter 7

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Third week of February 2008_

 

[Dean texts. Around 11PM]  
Hey. Working tonight?

[Sam]  
Hey! No, night in. What's up?

[Dean]  
Nothing, I'm good. Can I ask you a question? I wanted to yesterday when we talked but I don’t know, it’s easier like this

[Sam]  
Okay. Of course, anything

[Dean]  
It's kinda stupid but you know last year when we were in Vermont and there were the two hot chicks we picked up, remember? Swedish or something

[Sam]  
Oh, god. Yeah, why? I didn't keep their numbers if that's what you want.

[Dean]  
No, that's not it. The tiny one, with the peacock ink, she was really into you and she was kinda totally pushing for a threesome with both of us. But you ran away. Then there was that time with the ex-head cheerleader, you know which one I mean

So I've been thinking about that and how many times there've been girls with their friends and you're never in

[Sam]  
I'm not reading a question anywhere in there, Dean.

[Dean, after four minutes.]  
Dude I was just wondering, you won't freak out on me now, will you? No big deal, it's just weird, I mean there've been opportunities and most guys just go for it but I guess not you

[Sam, after two minutes.]  
I guess not.

You could just ask me, you know.

[Dean]  
I know I'm intimidating though so I can't blame you if you don't wanna give a chick a chance to compare

Ask you what?

[Sam]  
Whatever it is you keep hinting around. I can't actually read your mind, whatever Bobby thinks :)

[Dean]  
Hey, I'm not hinting! Alright then - why didn't you ever fold and have a threesome with me and a chick? Or a foursome, with a chick and her friend, sister, whatever

You always bail, dude, I don't get it, is all

[Sam]  
Oh! Seriously? Dude, you sounded like you were trying to ask if I was gay! Wow. I don't know? I guess I never thought it was seriously an option? 

Real life and casa erotica, not the same thing, remember!

Why are you asking me this, Dean?

[Dean]  
Dude, the Swedish chick was in her bra on your bed, one hand on my package the other on your leg. Don't give me that crap about casa erotica, if you don't wanna say, fine, but we both know there've been a couple of serious options at least

And just FYI being gay would be a legitimate answer

I don't think you are but you know. I hope you'd tell me

[Sam]  
Dean, she didn't even know we were brothers! You told her we were park rangers on the trail of a killer cougar. Normal people would not be okay with that! I can't lie to a girl I'm sleeping with. 

Okay, I can, but I don't want to. 

Anyway, what are you saying, that you want it to happen? 

[Dean after two minutes.]  
No, course not. You're right, it'd be weird

Just wondered whether you weren't hiding some big secret or something

Forget about it. How's work?

[Sam]  
No way, this is not a "forget about it" kind of thing. 

Wait, don't tell me, you're twenty minutes outside town with a set of twins who'll only do you if you bring a friend. Is that what's going on here?

[Dean]  
Alright, let's get one thing straight. I don't ever need you to get laid! I'm a gift, dude, come on! Chicks wanna do me, guys wanna do me - or want me to do them, it goes both ways. Point is, no conditions, period. 

[Sam]  
Wait, really? Have you been branching out, Dean? Pinch hitting for the other team?

[Dean]  
And to answer your question, no that's not what's going on, so you can calm down, Mr. Normal College Boy

[Sam]  
Dean, I'm sitting in my room on a Wednesday night, researching a possible local haunting while discussing my lack of kinky sex life with my brother. I'm not sure Mr. Normal really applies to me anymore.

[Dean]  
How possible? 

Don't answer that, must be pretty possible if you're looking into it. You're not gonna do anything stupid like go off on your own, are you? Let's talk, give me a sec to go someplace quiet and I'll call you

[Sam]  
It’s not for another seven months. September 22. It’s an equinox thing.

[Dean]  
Oh, alright

[Sam]  
I don't even know if it’s a real job yet, only just caught wind of it today. Probably nothing. 

Where are you anyway?

[Dean]  
Bar

[Sam]  
Oh. Guess I should have figured that one out. 

[Dean]  
I thought you being away, the whole going back to college thing. I thought not doing this was the whole point?

[Sam]  
Yeah, I don’t know. I heard something that sounded like one of our jobs and I just...full research mode just kicked in. I got the itch, isn't that what you always say?

[Dean]  
Yeah, but that's me. Not you. You're gonna call me if it comes to something though, right? It'd be stupid to get yourself killed after you signed off the course.

[Sam]  
Yeah, Dean, I'll call you. And I hope we’ll see each other by then anyway. 

Look how about I email you everything I dig up tonight? Wouldn't want you to feel left out or anything.

[Dean]  
You do that, Sammy. 

[Sam after a couple of minutes.]  
Are you out with Gwen and Christian then?

[Dean]  
No, I'm on my own

[Sam]  
I thought you guys would be inseparable after I left.

[Dean]  
Nah, they’re off on their own hunts these days, most of the time anyway. Don’t know, turned out they do things their way, I do them ours. 

And we weren't inseparable even before you left. Guess jealousy kinda blindsides you

[Sam]  
What's that supposed to mean?

[Dean]  
I'm just saying it's natural to be jealous when someone else gets to play with your awesome big brother. You're still my best boy

[Sam]  
What, no way I'm jealous of them, don't be stupid.

Anyway, jealous of what? I get to listen to my own music and drive myself around, now, and they just get to put up with you.

You're just being sentimental cuz you're drunk and you miss me. If I was there I'd probably be annoying you already.

[Dean]  
You keep typing up those messages denying it, Sammy, you sure make a strong case for yourself

Law lost a great one in you

[Sam]  
Shut up, jerk. 

[Dean]  
I'm not drunk and I'm not sentimental. But yeah, maybe I miss how annoying you are. That's your job, Sammy, being my pain in the ass little brother

Doesn't change the point I was making. What do they call it? Green-eyed monster? Hazel-eyed more like but same difference

[Sam]  
It’s a tough job but someone's gotta do it. I miss you too D.

[Dean]  
Who's sentimental now?

Don't need to butter me up, Sammy, I told you you're my number one

[Sam]  
Yeah, I know. You're mine too. 

[Dean]  
I am? Not some geeky college professor who wears one of those jackets with the elbow patches and drinks tea and knows all kinds of obscure crap and has my baby brother swooning after him?

[Sam]  
Dude! No. Whatever imaginary person you've dreamed up for me, they don't exist, no. Just you.

[Dean]  
Good. I was there first. You should tell them all

[Sam]  
Tell everyone that I'm off-limits because my awesome big brother had me first?

[Dean]  
Say it any way you want as long as everyone knows the deal. 

[A couple of minutes later.]  
Sorry, Sammy, I want you to be happy. I'm still trying to keep you tied up to me and you're a grown man, you can do whatever you want, sorry

[Sam, after five minutes]  
Nothing's going to keep me away, Dean, you're my family and I wanna be tied to you. I would die for you, you know that. And yes, things are different now, so the chances of that actually happening are slimmer, I guess. But that doesn't change the fact. At the end of the day, you are all I've got in this world. And I know it goes both ways.

[Dean]  
God, trust you to go all Oprah on me

[Sam]  
You were asking for it, jerk! Stop freaking out on me if you don't want to hear what I have to say.

[Dean]  
Of course I wanna hear what you have to say! Just saying you didn't have to write me a novel

And yeah, it does. Go both ways. You know that, right? I'd do anything for you, Sam. I scare myself sometimes, I just can't find my limits with you, you know

[Sam]  
Right, you wanted the abridged version. Okay, how's this, "We're cool, jerk. You got me."

[Dean]  
Hey, you're finally learning!

[Sam]  
Been around you long enough something was bound to rub off right?

[Dean]  
True story.

Hope you've gone to sleep finally, it's way past your bedtime, baby boy.

Night, Sam.

[Sam]  
Yeah, heading that way, I guess. Possible haunting will have to wait til after class tomorrow. Night, Dean. Take care of yourself.

[Dean]  
Talk to you tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	8. Chapter 8

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Last week of February 2008_

 

[Sam texts. 3PM]  
Hey, have you ever been sailing?

[Dean]  
Dude, what? Random! 

The answer is no. You wanna go sailing?

[Sam]  
Not random, look at this. 

[](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/boat_zps45d9bf99.jpg.html)

I’m sitting here at the student union, freezing my ass off and now the sun's starting to go down, but I don’t want to leave. It’s so peaceful here by the water, not another living soul around. The lake looks like a sheet of glass and I was imagining just flying across it in one of those boats.

Just seems like it would be awesome.

[Dean]  
I meant do YOU wanna go sailing, not if you wanna go sailing with me

Something got you lyrical, Sammy?

[Sam]  
You don't want to go sailing with me?

People choose to do so many strange things with their free time, man. 

[Dean]  
You're telling me! Hey, remember when we were looking for dad and I hit my stride, got a bit of cash rolling hustling. And jobs kept coming up, from you, from Dad. Man, I didn't have free time to spend my hard earned cash! 

Do you wanna go sailing with me?

[Sam]  
Why wouldn't I want to go sailing with you?

[Dean]  
Cuz you're weird. I'm awesome, you should wanna go sailing with me

[Sam]  
I do want to go sailing with you, Dean. That's what I meant.

Knowing us we'd run into a kelpie or something. Our lives are weird.

Oh, and? I'm not weird, you're weird. 

[Dean]  
Or a siren. I'm gonna have to tie you up, stop you from throwing yourself in the water after some skinny chick with wet hair

Your life isn't. Not anymore. Weird, I mean

[Sam]  
What, so you can jump in yourself? No thanks. Handcuff us both to the mast or something. Though that might just attract them, sirens are into that kinky stuff, right?

[Dean]  
Hell yeah, two hot guys, they're gonna be all over us

And dude, no siren can lure me into water while you're around

I mean cuz I'm always looking out for you

I got my priorities straight, that's what I meant

[Sam]  
Good. Cause if you chose some monster bitch over me, I'd be kinda pissed.

[Dean]  
Your weirdo ass attracts the monster bitches, not me

[Sam]  
Yeah, you're just a magnet for freaks like Gordon.

[Dean]  
Nice try. Far as I remember, Gordon was after your ass too

Ok that came out wrong

[Sam]  
He wanted to kill me, not get in bed with me. Important distinction.

[Dean]  
Dude, gross! I don't wanna think about psycho dudes after you for THAT!!

But my point stands. All the crazy is after your ass. Don't wanna think about the types you're attracting over there

[Sam]  
Gonna come kick some ass on my behalf? 

Dammit, I'm gonna be late for class. Can we continue this charming conversation later?

[Dean]  
Run away, college boy. Text me when you're done

[An hour later, Sam texts.]  
Can I ask you a question?

[Dean]  
Shoot

[Sam]  
Have you been sleeping with guys?

[Dean, after a minute.]  
What class did you just have??

[Sam]  
One that has nothing to do with the question. I'm just trying to figure something out. 

[Dean]  
How about you tell me what you're trying to figure out instead of asking me questions? 

Not sure you're telling the truth anyway. You said 'have you BEEN sleeping with guys' so something must have happened to make you think that. What is it, spit it out

[Sam.]  
I'm probably being stupid, just forget it. 

Just the way you've been after me about keeping some big secret from you and how you keep making these statements that make it sound like you think I'm gay. I'm just wondering if you've got some kind of reverse psychology thing going on.

[Dean]  
Alright, you know what, just because you're in college now doesn't make you Dr. Freud so quit trying to analyze me!

[Sam]  
Okay. Sorry. Well, anyway there's nothing to worry about, no psychos of either the male or female variety are on my ass.

[Dean]  
Yeah, whatever, dude

I hate it when you're being a smart ass, you know that? What do you think, I'm some kinda guinea pig that you and your stupid pretentious psychology class classmates can talk about? Fuck that

[Sam]  
What the hell, Dean? I'm not even in any psychology classes. I don't freak out at you when you ask me strange questions so just chill out, all right? 

Forget I fucking asked. Jesus.

[Dean]  
Yeah, you don't freak out!

That was sarcasm by the way

[Sam]  
Oh gee thanks, I never would have picked up on that on my own, so thank you for spelling it out for me, what would I do without you

[Dean]  
Screw you, Sam!

[Sam]  
Get in line.

[Dean]  
What the hell is that supposed to mean

[Five minutes later.]  
So what, you gonna be a bitch now and sulk? Suit yourself

[Sam]  
Shut up Dean you are pissing me off.

[Dean]  
Done. And join the fucking club!

You wanna say something, you wanna ask me something, you come out and say it, you don't act like a fucking smart ass

[Sam]  
I did ask, you moron! And you didn't answer!

[Dean, after two minutes.]  
You weren't asking because you wanted to know, you were asking just to test some theory. No thanks

[Sam]  
Where are you even getting that from? My god, you are a walking headcase. I was ASKING because I want to KNOW do you need me to draw you a picture?!

[Dean]  
Yeah keep going, nice one, Sam! Call a guy a headcase, that's gonna convince him you really wanna KNOW!

I'm not gonna tell you that was sarcasm too cuz you already know, you know everything, right?

[Sam]  
God I hate you 

[Dean]  
Good thing you split then

[Sam]  
Guess so

If we ever did go sailing we'd probably sink ourselves before the sirens even showed up. 

[After a minute.]  
I don’t hate you

[Dean, after a minute.]  
I know

[Sam]  
I don't like you much either right now though

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that all the text exchanges were written entirely spontaneously through role playing, in real time, without any premeditation or discussions in advance. Address any complaints to our brains that wanted to be faithful to the Sam and Dean in our verse.:)
> 
> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Last week of February 2008_

 

[Three days after their last exchange. Dean texts. 9PM]  
Hey. Listen, whatever you said or I said I don't want us to go back to how things were after you left for Stanford. I don't know if you wanna hear from me but if you need me, you call me, alright? Don't have to like me and we don't need to be best buds or whatever, but you gotta promise me you'll call me if you're in trouble

[A few minutes later]  
You just fucking push my buttons like no one else does, Sammy

[Sam, an hour later.]  
Good cause no one else deserves the shit you put me through and also your buttons are mine ok? And you too man you gotta call me if you need me even if you're still pissed at me. 

You gonna stay pissed at me dean?

[Dean]  
Dude, where are your commas?

[Sam]  
That's what you have to say to me?

[Dean]  
Were you hoping for some hand-holding and sweet rhymes?

[Sam]  
Wasnt hoping for anything. You texted me. 

[Dean]  
I'm not pissed at you. I don't know if I can ever stay pissed at you

[Sam]  
Ok thats what I was hoping for 

[Dean]  
I swear, such a princess

[Sam]  
Oh shut up. 

So were good?

[Dean]  
Yeah, we’re good

You gonna ask me weirdo gay questions again?

[Sam]  
No since I know you won't answer

[Dean]  
You wanna get something, it depends on how you ask, Sammy

[Sam]  
I'm too tired for this Dean. I dont want to make you mad again

[Dean]  
Ok

Not gonna make me mad, baby boy

I'm sorry, ok?

[Sam]  
Yeah you say that and then ten minutes later we're down each others throats over nothing. I dont know Dean. 

Im sorry too. i just miss you.

[Dean]  
Tell me about it

[Sam]  
this sucks

[Dean]  
Yeah

[Sam]  
Hunting?

[Dean]  
No. Bar

[Sam]  
Me too

[Dean]  
You're in a bar? Praise the lord!

[Sam]  
I work in a bar dude

You drinking?

I mean, a lot?

[Dean]  
Yeah but you've been missing your commas and periods. I forget them but you don't, you gigantic nerd

I know you, Sammy. You've been drinking

[Sam]  
If I say nu-uh will you believe me

[Dean]  
Nu-uh. Dork

[Sam]  
Was dead slow, they let me off an hour ago. Waiting for some people at the bar. Supposed to go out, dont really want to anymore. Fucking tired

[Dean]  
You think going out will do you good?

[Sam]  
Its suposed to right? You always said so. 

[Dean]  
Yeah, but you're not me

You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do, Sam.

[Sam]  
Yeah I know Im not you. You know I thought I got over wishing I was when I was about 14, not sure sometimes though

And what about you, Dean. Killed any monsters recently?

[Dean]  
Are these people friends of yours?

Not since I talked to you last. I know I'm awesome but I'm still human, I gotta stop and rest sometimes and so do you. Why are you so tired, Sammy?

[Sam]  
Lotta long nights. Work and homework and friend's friend is in a band, out late for that. Pretty good too, you'd hate them but I liked it. Lots going on in this city its good.

Also thinking you were never gonna talk to me again or I was gonna have to be the one to apologize first, thats tiring.

[Dean]  
For a smart guy you're such a moron sometimes

And you could have picked up the phone but I guess you're too stubborn for that

Sounds like you're doing well for yourself, Sammy. Work, school, painting the town red

[Sam]  
Guess I am. Good thing im so awesome and you love me anyway.

[Dean]  
You're right about one of these things

So who are all these friends all of a sudden? Like tonight?

[Sam]  
Tonight? Roommate and friends. Dont freak out, they're gay

[Dean]  
Dude, what the hell? I'm not freaking out!

[Sam]  
Haha! You are. I can tell you are from here. Don't worry D I wont let them get me!

[Dean]  
That's homophobic, dude, you should be ashamed of yourself!

[Sam]  
Oh I am. Forgive me brother, I have sinner. 

[Dean]  
And you should be kinda flattered if they wanna get you

[Sam]  
You type too fast

[Dean]  
You been letting anyone get you?

[Sam]  
Only a couple. Nothing thats like a big deal

[Dean]  
You gotta ask your roommates to get you home, ok?

[Sam]  
Are you mad?

[Dean]  
No, just worried that my lame ass little brother is too drunk to stay out

Just wanna make sure you're alright

Told you earlier, can't stay mad at you, baby boy

[Sam]  
Not lame! Feeing no pain. Got my brother got my friends got my free drinks. Good.

[Dean]  
Ok, Sasquatch, no more drinks for you. 

Man, I wish I could get there now. Sammy, you need to go home, alright? Promise. Tell me you're going home.

[Sam]  
I think im might be reallly drunk

[Sam, fifteen minutes later.]  
The cab driver is telling us she gave a couple a ride earlier and the girl gave the guy head in the back seat

[Dean]  
Dude, you never told me you were going to study in Sin City. Аlcohol, public sex. Might have hitched a ride there myself

Who are you riding with in the back seat? Is it the girl I talked to?

[Sam]  
Kate's girlfriend and she's not up for trying it not that I am suggesting it

Have you ever?

[Dean]  
Have I ever what?

[Sam]  
You know. Road head.

[Dean]  
Takes two to tango, Sammy. Have I ever what?

[Sam]  
Has anyone ever sucked you off while you were driving?

[Dean]  
I thought we were talking back seat

[Sam]  
Tease

[Dean]  
I don't like letting people sit in the passenger seat

Told you earlier, you gotta know how to ask

[Sam]  
Whatever dude I dunno when you turned into a prude but thats cool cuz I respect your choices 

[Dean]  
Back seat, done everything back there, Sammy: gotten head, eaten pussy, fucked more times than I can count.

Happy now? 

Got home alright?

[Sam, after ten minutes.]  
Home fine, hydrating. You like fucking in the car?

[Dean]  
I like fucking, full stop

Why? You ever fucked in the car?

[Sam]  
Not in yours. Always wanted to. Always thought you'd kill me though

[Dean]  
Damn right about that

[Sam]  
So damn fusyy

[Dean]  
Whose car did you fuck in?

[Sam]  
You dont wanna know.

Jessica's

[Dean]  
Alright, if you wanna fuck in the Impala I'll let you

Once!

It's a good thing you and Jessica did it in her car. It's awesome. Nothing changes that

[Sam]  
If you buy me dinner first

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
Course, you're a princess

[Sam]  
I can hardly remember her Dean. Hardly picture her or anything. Sometimes I miss her like whatever thats called when you dont have a hand anymore. But shes so far away I cant even feel her anymore. Not like mom who its like she never even existed for me. We go the demon but its still my fauly there dead but even that, I can't feel it like I used to. 

[Dean]  
Nothing's your fault, alright? We got the demon but the dead are still dead, we can't hold on to them because then we never get to live our lives. I mean look at dad. Do you think Jess would have wanted you to live your life like that? 

You got to spend some time with her and you remember some things and that's awesome, you're never gonna lose that. But you let go of other things, and that's the way it should be. Otherwise it's living with ghosts and our family's had enough of that

You deserve better and Jessica would have agreed with me, dude, you know she would have

[Sam]  
Youre right. You would hve liked her. Gotta hold on to you keep you alive. You always lok after me dean thank you

[Dean]  
I'm not going anywhere, you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. Get some sleep, gotta take good care of that pretty face, princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When we role played this text exchange, we spontaneously started writing together the scene at the back of The Dane with drunk Sammy talking to Dean over the phone. We sent each other back and forth several extracts, just as means to inhabit the characters' heads more fully. When we were done, however, we felt that some of you might enjoy reading the scene. After some polishing it's now one of our Special Features—those interested can read it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3078524).


	10. Chapter 10

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Last week of February 2008_

 

[On the following morning after their last exchange. Sam texts. 1PM.]

[Sam]  
Please god tell me you've already destroyed your phone. Salt and burn that motherfucker or I'll never speak to you again.

[Dean, two hours later.]  
No can do, Sammy. Not gonna ruin a good phone just cuz you can't hold your liquor. Or tongue

I'mma call you my trashy princess from now on

[Sam]  
I'm gonna puke on you the next time I see you. Somehow this is all your fault. And I’m not trashy. 

You make a lousy Prince Charming. 

[Dean]  
Nah, I'm an awesome prince charming. You wanna get a kiss, you quit drinking and strictly no puking on me

[Sam]  
Thanks for making sure I got home. I won't do that again. 

[Dean]  
You're welcome and thank your housemates. How are you feeling? Ready for some greasy lamb stew? Remember Mrs Sorensen’s lamb stew, man, you were so green!

You better not do that again. I can't be worrying about you getting free drinks every night now that you work in a bar

[Sam]  
Oh god, just for that I'm going to puke in the Impala. Why Dean, why would you mention Mrs. Sorensen? What did I ever do to you?

[Dean]  
Aw, you feeling alright, Sammy? Think again about threatening to puke in my baby

[Sam]  
She's seen worse, apparently. And no, I feel like ass on a stick but I've been worse too. 

[Dean]  
What do you think I did back there, some shady porno? It was never gross. I treat my car like I treat my lovers, Sammy 

I know you're a big boy but I'm just gonna say it. Monsters are monsters, but it's freaking people, man. You should know better. You know a bar attracts all kinds. You gotta promise me you'll watch out for yourself. 

I seriously can't be sweating every time you work a shift, it's bad enough as it is, thinking of who might be an asshole to you, or about slimy fuckers hitting on my brother. It's bad for my health

[Sam]  
I'll be fine Dean, don't worry about me. I don't usually get free drinks, it was just that I covered for Nick earlier so he thought he owed me or something. And my bar is classy, dude. I'm not in some hick town, remember? Nothing to give yourself an ulcer over. 

[Dean]  
Don't flatter yourself, dude, if I ever got an ulcer it'd be from too much of the good stuff

And you can play it cool, princess, but last night you got trashed, puked outside a bar and rode in a cab where someone had gotten head a few hours before. So yeah, town sounds real classy

Might have to swing by one day, do some damage control in front of your housemates

[Sam]  
And ask my lesbian roommates if you can watch them make out? Yeah, that'll go over real smooth. 

[Dean]  
Dude, I'm offended!

[Sam]  
No, you’re not

[Dean]  
And how do you know they're not gonna get off on it? Just cuz you're a prude

[Sam]  
It's like I don't even have to argue with you when you make my point for me so perfectly. 

[Dean]  
Whatever. Told you, you can play it cool today but we both know who was a giant dork last night

I'm gonna hit the road. Talk to you soon, you watch out, alright? And enjoy your hangover!

[Sam]  
I was not a giant dork! How many times have I had to haul your wasted ass home from a bar? Remember Barkesville? You were barely old enough to be in that place and I had to deal with getting you out of it. 

Oh okay. Where are you going? Alone? Be safe, check in, all right?

[Dean]  
Dude, I'm older than you, I'm always gonna be cooler, even when I'm drunk. It's like the law

I'm gonna be fine, I'll talk to you soon, Sammy

[Sam]  
Yeah, no. Not that Stanford was big on sibling rivalry law, but I think I would have learned about that one if it was on the books.

[Dean]  
Can't learn everything from the books, gotta live a little

[Sam]  
Funny how you're always telling me I should live a little and when I do you freak out and tell me I gotta be careful. I believe the legal term for that is "mother hen." 

Good luck with the job. Call if you need anything.

\---

_First week of March 2008 ___

__

__[Dean texts. 8pm]  
Hey, you never said what got you so drunk that night. You know you're a lightweight so how come you kept downing them?_ _

__[Sam]  
Whiskey followed by beer. And do we really have to talk about this again?_ _

__How's the job?_ _

__[Dean]  
I know what gets a guy drunk, Sam. Wasn't asking about that but if you don't wanna talk about it, that's fine_ _

__Job’s done. Back at Bobby’s_ _

__[Sam]  
Well I really don't want to talk about it. _ _

__[Dean]  
Ok_ _

__[Two minutes later.]  
Just promise me you'll tell me if you're in some kind of trouble. I don't care what it is or if it's bad or whatever, ok? We'll figure it out_ _

__Not saying there's anything, just saying if there is, you don't keep it to yourself, ok? You don't have to_ _

__[Sam]  
Jesus Dean, I'm fine. Quit acting like I can't breathe without it turning into a disaster. _ _

__Normal life comes with normal life problems, that's all._ _

__[Dean, after a few minutes]  
Alright, forget I said anything_ _

__[Five minutes later.]  
Sorry, Sam, I know you can take care of yourself_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	11. Chapter 11

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Third week of March 2008_

 

[Sam texts. Midday.]  
Hey. Busy?

[Dean, after an hour.]  
No. What's up?

[Sam, five minutes later.]  
Not much. Just checking in, haven’t talked to you in a while. How're things?

[Dean]  
Same as ever. You?

[Sam]  
Going crazy getting ready for my exams. I forgot how much this sucks.

And the weather is beautiful. I just wanna sit by the lake. Maybe try sailing.

[Dean]  
You were doing all that research while we were on the road, you'll get back in shape soon

[Sam]  
It's not so much that it's a lot of work, I'm used to that. It's just a lot of sitting still. Haven't even been out for a run in a week. 

[Dean]  
Guess it takes time to get back into the swing of things

[Sam]  
Yeah, I guess so. What are you up to?

[Dean]  
Not much. Working on one of Bobby's cars

[Sam]  
Oh yeah? Just because? I should take the Buick out for a ride soon.

[Dean]  
Helping him out with a sale, I crash here all the time, least I can do

[Sam]  
You sound like you're busy, I'll leave you alone.

[Dean]  
How do I sound like I'm busy? I told you I wasn't, didn't I? 

[Sam]  
I thought you were working on a car?

[Dean]  
I've got all day for what will take three hours tops

[Sam]  
Okay. So...is there something you want to talk about? You seem kinda tight lipped about something.

[Dean]  
Are you kidding me?

[Sam]  
No? Look, never mind, forget it. I have work to do I can't get sucked into this again. 

All I meant is that it didn't seem like you wanted to talk but when I tried to let you go you said you weren't busy. I thought maybe something was up, that's all.

[Dean]  
That's rich coming from you! You bite my head off when I say something like that but it's ok for you to do it?

[Sam]  
What? When do I do that?

[Dean]  
Fuck that, I don't have time for this

[Sam]  
What the hell, Dean? What did I do?

[Dean, after a few minutes.]  
I fucking hate it when you do that, you know that? Turn it around like this is all on me! You freaking text me, you start this then you back off making me look like some nutjob who's sucking you into this, whatever the hell this is! Figure out what you want, Sam cuz I don't get it. I'm doing my best here, but fuck if I know which way I'm going 

[Sam]  
I'm sorry, Dean I didn't mean anything like that. I just wanted to say hi. I don't know what I did to make you think I was playing some kind of game because I'm not, I swear. 

[Dean]  
After you got drunk I asked you if something was up and you shut me down, remember? You fucking said you didn't want to talk about it so I knew something was up but I still didn't push, all I did was say that you could tell me in case you needed my help or whatever, and all I got was you telling me to leave you alone!

Now I'm staying out of your hair and you're texting me. And you pull the same crap on me, asking if something's wrong like you can do it and I can't!

And then somehow it's all my fault, you're too busy to be dragged back into this, like this is something I'm freaking happy to be doing! Not a fan of caring and sharing, dude, can't put this on me 

[Two minutes later.]  
I fucking don't know what you want from me, Sam. You gotta help me out here

[Sam, after five minutes.]  
Dean, I'm sorry, it's my fault, I didn't realize how I was coming across. Man, I don't even remember what was going on that night, it was so not a big deal. And I definitely didn't mean I wanted you to leave me alone! I know I push your buttons or whatever, but you got to trust me on this one. I'm not gonna push you away, that is the opposite of what I want. 

[Dean, after a few minutes.]  
I remember how you and Dad used to be at each other's throats all the time, like in the months before you left. And I kept thinking if you could just shut up for a minute or if he could just leave you alone, take a walk or something, that it would be different, it wouldn't be so bad. And now I'm not so sure anymore if that was even possible

[Sam]  
What are you talking about, what are you saying? What does dad have to do with us?

[Dean]  
I don’t know, Sam, I’m just thinking how he pushed you away in the end and I keep thinking how I gotta do things differently and be careful or whatever, but I can’t always see what’s what and you’re like, I can’t read you at all sometimes 

[After a couple of minutes.]  
But you and him and you and me, it's different. I'm just saying, I'm flying blind with you, man. And you do push my buttons, like I don't even know what the hell sometimes, Sammy. But all I know is I can't stay away

If you want me to, I will though. It's my freaking head that's fucked up and I'll deal with it. Not your problem

[Sam]  
Jesus Christ, just stop. Stop with the leaving me alone and thinking you're fucked up, okay? You're not, and I don't want you to, okay? What have I been trying to prove to you forever? Just cut it out, I swear to god. 

[Dean]  
Are you pissed now? What are you talking about? You've got nothing to prove to me

Man, I don't want to be doing this, it's giving me a headache. I wanna do this face to face, it'll be quicker for sure!

[Sam]  
Tell me about it. So let's just stop. I'm not pissed. I don't want you to leave me alone. I don't want to have to watch what I say to you all the time or you to worry about me. Man, this is like the trickster all over again, it's crazy. I thought stuff was good with us. I want it to be. 

[Dean]  
I always worry about you. That's not going to change, I just don't know how to be any other way, ok?

And I don't know what's up with us, yeah, things were good. Things are still good, you gotta know that. I don't know, it was easier when you were around. Not because I could keep an eye on you. Just, I could take one look at you and I know you, Sammy

[Sam]  
Yeah, it's easier when we're not second guessing each other and I'm not trying to figure out your mood via text or when we talk on the phone. I didn't think things would go like this, I guess that was naive. 

I suppose it's because when we're in the car you might do something stupid and piss me off for a second but it's not like I'm just going to sit there and stew about it for days while we drive. Okay, maybe I've done that but so have you. My point is something would always happen to snap us out of it. 

Maybe we need danger to make us fit together the way we're supposed to. 

[Dean]  
Some things never change though, face to face or texting, you're always talking my ear off

[Sam]  
Whatever. I'm sure you'll survive. 

[Dean]  
Don't be like that, Sammy. You're the prettiest princess

[Sam]  
You sure know how to make a boy feel special, Dean.

[Dean]  
I got no experience, Sammy. You're the only boy I've ever wanted to make feel special

[Sam]  
You're good at it. 

[Dean]  
Yeah? Cuz I'm thinking it's all you, baby boy. You don't need me to know you're special, you just are.

[Sam]  
God listen to you, 0-60 in 6 messages. You're unbelievable. 

[Dean, after a minute.]  
Do you like it?

[Sam]  
Yeah.

[Dean]  
Good. Because it really is all you. 0 to 60, you always get my motor running, any way you want.

[Sam]  
Yeah?

[Dean]  
Hell yeah. What do I keep telling you? You push my buttons, the good, the bad and the ugly, all of them. 

[Sam, after a couple minutes.]  
That's my job, right?

[Dean]  
No one else's, just you

[Two minutes later.]  
You feeling special enough now, baby boy?

[Sam, after another two minutes]  
Yeah Dean, I'm good. 

[Dean]  
Good. Alright, break's over. I'm gonna get back to working on the car now and you got books to bury your nose in, right? I'll call you later in the week

[Sam]  
Good, okay yeah. I'll talk to you later. 

[Dean, after a couple of minutes]  
I miss you Sam

[Sam]  
Yeah I can tell.

Miss you too, Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	12. Chapter 12

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_First week of April 2008_

 

[Dean texts. 10AM]  
Hey, sleeping beauty? You back with the living yet?

[Sam, half an hour later.]

Just barely. Why did you let me do this, Dean? I'd rather face a Wendigo than write another Human Osteology paper.

[Dean]  
Dude, you cannot put this on me! And what the hell is this human osteology thing? Sounds like something to do with lady parts

[Sam]  
You think everything has to do with lady parts.

Needed a biological anthro course, thought it sounded the least horrible. Basically I'm an idiot.

[Dean]  
No argument about that

Must feel good to be free now though, right?

[Sam]  
No argument about lady parts or that I'm an idiot?

But yeah it does, while it lasts. It’s not like I’m out of the woods, finals are like a month away.

[Dean]  
You are an idiot. And I love lady parts, but I have other interests in life too, you know

[Sam]  
Yeah I know, like Impala parts.

[Dean]  
Glad to see you still have some juice left to be a smart ass. Yeah, I love my baby! But I also have monsters to kill in case you've forgotten

And an idiot little brother to worry about

[Sam]  
Do you think when we're ninety and shacked up somewhere like Bobby or Ellen you'll still call me that? I can just see you brushing your dentures with Jack and calling first dibs on the old man diapers because you're the oldest.

[Dean]  
Screw you, I'm going to be an awesome, virile old man!

Don't wanna hear anything about spelling, I don't know how to spell that bitch but you know what I mean anyway

There's only one of us here who's seen the other one in diapers and that'll always remain the case. Do I need to go on about THAT? Cuz I can!

Other than that, yeah, I'll be claiming dibs on all the good stuff! I AM the oldest, dude, can't change that

[Sam]  
Dude, just, no. Forget I said anything and never mention diapers again. Do you know how weird that is for me know you used to—see I can't even type it. Too weird.

[Dean]  
Serious answer? I doubt it I'd get that far. Even half way seems kinda ambitious. But until I got a breath left in me you'll always be my little brother, Sammy.

[Sam]  
Hey, shut up. No way I'm letting you go before me, not that soon anyway. Don't even think about it.

[Dean]  
You started it. Next time think before you speak, young padawan, your teacher has a thing or two up his sleeve

[Sam]  
Dean, I'm serious, and you better not be. Even dad made it longer than that and he was crazy.

[Dean]  
You gonna charm Death itself, Sammy?

[Sam]  
If I had to.

[Dean]  
You do have some awesome dimples

[Sam]  
Although I don't know why when you're such an annoying jerk. Just don't say shit like that to me, okay, D? I mean about going out young.

[Dean]  
And I'm just saying, Sam. I mean I don't want to die. But shit happens all the time

[Sam]  
Well, don't let it happen to you.

[Dean]

Anyway, quit worrying. I don't have plans to check out soon. Not until I see my geek boy finally get laid, graduate and become a successful something. Might have to wait for one of these things for a while knowing you but silver lining! I'll be around longer!

[Sam]  
I am going to deck you one of these days. Fair warning.

[Dean]  
Bring it on, Rocky! It'll be cute to see you try

[Sam]  
Hey, not only do I have three inches on you but I've popped you one a time or two.

[Dean]  
I gotta let you have one once in a while, Sammy. I'm generous like that

You keeping in good shape?

[Sam]  
Yeah, up until midterms started and my ass ended up glued to a chair for two weeks. Don't have anyone to spar with, though. Haven't actually looked, I should do that. I had a couple sparring buddies at Stanford, which had nothing at all to do with how you were nice enough to let me beat your ass into the ground when you showed up in my house in the middle of the night.

[Dean]  
All that studying has done a number on your brain. You should check that out

Oh and forgot to say, in your dreams. I totally had your ass back then

[Sam]

Oh? Is that not how you remember it? Because my memory is pretty clear. You thought you had me pinned and I flipped you like you were a rag doll.

[Dean]  
Dude, I let you! And you're a rag doll!

[Sam]  
You're so cute when you get all offended.

[Dean]  
Shut up, bitch, I'm not cute!

I'm in a fucking great shape. I'm all muscle, dude. You're cute!

[Sam]  
You are. You're adorable. You're always going on about my dimples, how come we never talk about yours? And your freckles, especially when it's summer and you're tan and they stand out.

[Dean]  
Shut up! I don't have dimples. It's just how my mouth twists, it's weird, it's not adorable!

[Sam]  
I didn't say you weren't in great shape. Actually that's another added bonus of summer, when you take off your first ten shirts so you can actually see how ripped you are.

[Dean]  
You mention my freckles again, I'm gonna kick your ass! That's low, dude. I never make fun of how you look!

[Sam]  
I'm not making fun. I am waxing poetic over here, dude. Take a compliment.

[Dean]  
Ok, rules! The words adorable and cute are off the table. I don't want them used to describe me, you hear me??

And I don't wear ten shirts! Just because you're like a freaking furnace, some of us are capable of feeling cold you know

How can you wax poetic about the freckles?? Or my dimples?

That I don't have!

[Sam]  
Dean, you do realize you're playing right into my hands now, right?

Am I allowed to say it's adorable how easily I can wind you up?

[Dean]  
No. And no! Smart ass. I'm pulling the older card. Only I can say you're adorable

And hold on, who says you can wind me up? I'm totally chill, dude

Ok, you can wind me up big time. But it's not EASY

[Sam]  
It's not? Should I start talking about your not-dimples again?

[Dean]  
Alright, sometimes it's easy, but that's cuz you're stupid and annoying with your angst and stupid puppy dog eyes

[Sam]  
You love my puppy dog eyes

Don't even pretend you don't.

[After a couple minutes]  
They get you every time.

[Two minutes later, Sam sends a selfie with his cell phone camera.]

Is this the face?

[Dean, after a couple minutes.]  
Yeah.

[Another two minutes later.]  
You look good

Aside from the whole feed me, take me home look

[Sam]  
Yeah? I bet you do too.

I miss your face.

Especially the freckles.

And everything else.

[Dean]  
Got a gash on my right eyebrow and my eye's all puffy

You look good, Sammy.

[Sam]  
Fuck, are you kidding me? What the hell happened, why didn't you tell me? I didn’t even know you were on a job!

Are you okay?

[Dean]  
It's not a big deal. I'm gonna be fine in a few days.

Quit hovering, I can feel you hovering all the way from here. I'm fine, dude. Nothing you haven't seen on me, you've stitched worse. Hell, you've had worse. It was a vamp. She's dead, her partner too

[Sam]  
Okay.

Sorry, I'll chill out. If I keep freaking out on you you'll stop telling me anything which would be much worse.

[Dean]  
College boy still has some smarts left in him

[Sam]  
Jerk

[Dean]  
Seriously, I'm fine. Just wanted to say I'd take an ugly picture is all

[Sam]  
I don't think that's even possible.

[Dean]  
Are you making fun again? I'm an invalid, dude, shame on you

[Sam]  
Given what I have to put up with from you, I think you can deal with me saying nice things about you once in awhile.

[Dean]  
What do you mean put up with me. I'm delightful!

And thanks, I guess

Were you serious about the freckles too? I hate those things

[Sam]  
I mean you tell me I'm adorable and call me all kinds of ridiculous things but the second I say you look good or anything you put on this big show about not believing me. So, suck it. You always look so good it's kind of disgusting.

And yeah, your freckles are awesome. Do you know how jealous I always was I didn't have them?

God, growing up is weird. Getting perspective on all the shit I just took for granted as a kid? Like I was sure I was gonna grow up to be you. Like, actually BE you. I wanted to look like you so bad.

[Dean]  
It's not a show.

[Sam]  
What the hell reason would I have for lying to you about that?

Or about anything?

[Dean]  
You don't need to look like me, Sammy. You grew up fine. Seriously, only the secret vow of celibacy you must have given stops you from getting laid all the time

It was there before but after Stanford, it's kind of in your face how good you look

No reason. Just didn't think you were serious. Easier to believe you when you were a little kid, I guess

And why'd you need freckles? You tan so good

[Sam]  
Not that I want to blueball this circlejerk or anything, but now that we've agreed we're both ridiculously good looking I have to start getting ready to head out.

[Dean]  
Yeah, baby! You put those good looks to good use

[Sam]  
Will do. Rent doesn't pay itself :)

[Dean]  
You be careful, Sammy

[Sam]  
I always am. You too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one of our Special Features can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3128075). It's a missing scene between Sam and his housemates from his early days in Madison, where he talks about Jess and Dean. More notes at the entry, we hope you enjoy!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Third week of April 2008_

[Sam texts. 9PM]  
Dude, you know what I don't miss? Dogging up graves. That shit sucked. 

Digging, I mean. Digging up graves. Stupid phone. 

[Dean]  
What did you do at those graves while I wasn't looking??

You dirty dog

[Sam]  
I was doing the heavy lifting while your ass sat around watching!

And providing commentary.

[Dean]  
Not how I remember it

It was all fair and square, Sammy

And it's not my fault I've got a way with words on top of my good looks. You just pouted princess, someone had to do the talking

[Sam]  
Uh-huh. Fair and square according to Dean Winchester's rules of elder brother privilege. 

[Dean]  
Like I said, always pouting...

IF you grabbed the shovel more than I did, it was still fair, you're like three times my size

[Sam]  
Who's the princess now?

If I was working you too hard you should've said.

I hope you're not straining too hard without me.

[Dean]  
Not gonna work on me but you keep trying

Plus I can still kick your ass by the time you’ve finished counting to three

[Sam]  
All right Dean, well, you just take care of yourself, okay? You know how I worry.

[Dean]  
God it's worse than being married, someone constantly picking on you, at least married people get sex

[Sam]  
What the hell do you know about being married? I thought marriage was supposed to kill your sex life.

[A couple of minutes later.]  
Hey, they renewed my scholarship in full for next year, did I tell you?

[Ten minutes later.]  
You better be getting some cheap unmarried motel action and not be dead, Dean.

[Dean, close to 1AM.]  
Hey, went for a ride. You didn't tell me about the scholarship. Managed to fool them again, did you?

Good for you, Sammy. 

[Sam]  
Dude, there is no fooling these people, it's not like I can flash a badge and have them eating out of my hand. I've been working my ass off here. 

But thanks. 

[Dean]  
Yeah, alright, touchy. They got classes where you can get a sense of humor over there?

You think if I came over and flashed them with something better than a badge they'd give me some money?

[Sam]  
Says the guy who thinks fart jokes are funny. 

I'd almost pay money to see that. 

You do realize if they gave you money you'd have to spend it on classes. 

And classes really tend to put a dent into time you could put to better use drinking and screwing around. 

[Dean]  
Man, you paint quite a picture of me there. My feelings are hurt

Ain't gonna be a problem anyway, I'm awesome at multi-tasking

[Sam]  
Is multi-tasking where you drink beer while I do research for you? You are good at that. 

[Dean]  
Bitch.

Multi-tasking is where I'd be super college boy while showing college girls some good times. Erasing whatever bad impressions my dorky little brother left

[Sam]  
You'd go to college just to repair the family name? I'm not doing that much damage to it, you know. I'm the hot bartender, remember?

But you know, given how you only need like 4 hours of sleep every other day, I bet you could pull it off. And make it look easy. Probably show me up. 

[Dean]  
You shake those cocktails, baby

You getting any action then? People hitting on you just to get free drinks don't count. Forget it, I just answered my own question

[Sam]  
Honestly? Not what you'd probably call action, but a little. I've been out with a few people, but nothing serious, no one special. 

[Dean]  
College boy is living a little, I'll be damned

[Sam]  
Yeah, well. You're the one who always says if you don't use it you lose it. 

Or whatever. 

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
Doesn't always have to be someone special, you know. As long as it's someone who can make you feel real good, that's enough sometimes

Oh you're using it, are you? Thought you weren't getting anything I'd call action. I'm starting to wonder what it is that you are getting then

[Sam]  
Yeah, I know. But I really don't have a lot of free time, and it's not really high on my list of priorities right now. Maybe not ever, seeing as the special ones tend to die bloody around me. 

That was supposed to be a joke. 

[Dean]  
Figures that when you find your sense of humor it'd be for something like that

[Sam]  
At least I don't make fart jokes.

[Dean]  
You know, even when you were little you'd wrap both your little fists around my fingers and you'd give me that look, always so serious

Apart from when you started grinning, with the dimples and when you got the giggles, man, you were such a dorky kid

[Sam]  
Yeah I was. Remember when I was chubby? Good times. 

[Dean]  
Women used to go crazy about you though, couldn't keep their hands to themselves. I still can't believe Dad didn't let me watch TV for a week after I bit that old lady

[Sam]  
You bit an old lady because she hit on me?

[Dean]  
No, you dork. I'm talking about when you were three. Don't you remember? Dad had turned his back on us for like a minute and I was holding your hand, we were in some mall or something. I just remember it was a big place. I was holding your hand and this old lady came over and started gushing about how adorable you were, then she went and planted these big sloppy kisses on both your cheeks and you started crying, she tried to pick you up and I bit her

[Sam]  
No, I don't remember that. And that's bull, man, why did dad punish you, you were just doing your job. What if she'd been a baby snatcher, supernatural or not?

I know I've said it before but he put way too much on you and you handled it like a goddamn superhero. You're awesome, D. 

[Dean]  
Man, don't go all soft on me now

But yeah, I don't even remember thinking if she could snatch you or whatever, I just bit her.

[Sam]  
I'm just saying. 

You don't like other people touching your things. 

[Dean]  
Damn right about that.

[Sam]  
Hey remember when I was 16 and you gave me a crash course on talking to girls over the phone in the middle of a hunt? Also awesome. 

[Dean]  
I don't remember that. Did it work?

[Sam]  
Yeah, it worked. Well, sort of. None of your advice worked, actually, but you gave me the confidence to try. And then I beat up two kids who were bothering her. That seemed to work better. 

[Dean]  
Well, I'm glad you found your own way to impress her

You probably weren't doing it right. Were you trying to talk her ear off? No wait, you said you were sixteen. So what, just gaped at her blushing, right? 

[Sam]  
First girl I ever kissed and I never saw her again, we left town that same day.

There was probably some blushing. Lots of talking, actually. We had a lot in common. 

[Dean]  
You kissed a girl for the first time when you were sixteen? Man, I should have dropped everything and taught you how to do that before giving you any advice

[Sam]  
16 is perfectly normal especially considering I never got a chance to get to know anyone. 

And I'm glad to know you have your priorities straight and my love life will always come before everything else, like killing monsters.

Don't think dad would have agreed with you though. 

How would you teach someone to kiss, anyway?

[Dean]  
We already established I'm an awesome big brother. Besides, getting my geek brother some action always seemed like a much bigger challenge than wasting some ugly ass ghost

And there's one sure way to teach someone that.

[Sam]  
Practice makes perfect, huh?

[Dean]   
That's right. Everyone can benefit from some teaching is all I'm saying.

[Sam]  
Except for you, right, you were just born awesome.

[Dean]   
You have no idea, baby boy

[Sam]   
Dad would've killed you, if he caught us doing that.

[Dean]  
You think I'd have let him catch us?

[Sam]  
I think you wouldn't have risked it at all. You didn't, in fact. 

[Dean, after five minutes.]  
Well whatever. But it wasn't because I was afraid someone would catch us

I'd have never let that happen to you

[Sam, after a few minutes.]  
Yeah, I know. You were always too busy watching out for me to have any fun.

[Dean]  
What, you called me to ask to have that kind of fun? Cuz I might not remember the time you asked for advice but I would have remembered that

You were sixteen. I guess you're right. I was watching out for you

[Sam]  
No, don't worry, I never asked for that. That would have been crazy, even for us. 

But I do think it's funny that you think 16 was way too old for me to have my first kiss but still way too young for you to treat me like anything other than a baby. 

I probably never told you about Amy cause I was afraid you'd bite her or something. 

[Dean]  
Well I sometimes look into our barrel of crazy and can't see its bottom

[Sam]  
You and me both. Some family legacy, huh?

[Dean]  
Dude, I only bit crazy women who made you cry. Draw your own conclusions

Yeah, I think our crazy is looking at our family legacy in the rear mirror. My crazy at least. You still got a chance to do something different, be someone different

[Sam]  
You know, me coming here, wanting to finish college? It's about wanting to add something to my life, do something I want to do, not about trying to run away or ditch my history or deny that the things I've done and the way I look at the world isn't ten kinds of crazy. You know that, right? I'm not doing this to try to change who I am.

[Dean]  
Yeah, I know that

Like I told you before, you've always known what you wanted and you go after it. I get that this is like that

[Sam]  
Okay. I just don't want you to think I'm jonesing to transform myself or something, turn into someone you don't recognize. Maybe I want to do something different but I don't want to be anything different. 

[Dean]  
Sounds like you've figured it all out. I mean knowing who you are, isn't that like the holy grail of enlightenment or something?

But seriously, I'm happy for you, Sam. You know that right? Texting tricks you cuz it seems easy so you keep doing it, but it's just words on screen, they gotta mean something

[Sam]  
Not really. I'm fumbling in the dark as much as anyone. I've just decided not to beat myself up over it any more.

[Dean]  
Ok, master Yoda

[Sam]  
And I'm not sure what you're saying, Dean.

[Dean]  
What? Why? What did I say?

I'm just happy you're finding whatever it is you're looking for, Sam. Not happy that you're making me write poems about it, but other than that like I said

Did you mean about the texting thing?

[Sam]  
Yeah, that.

[Dean]  
Man, I forget how you get. Why? What didn't you get? 

I was just making sure you knew I was serious. Cuz we're texting and it's easier to say some stuff, I guess but sometimes it can be confusing, like you don't know if the person means it or if they're being snarky or serious, that kinda thing

You flipped out on me once, remember? I don't remember what I said and then you were barking at me like a rabid dog, and all I'd meant was something different

I don't know, man, it's just easier when you look at someone when they say something and you know if they mean it. I wanted you to know I meant it. That I was happy you were figuring things out.

[Sam]  
Okay, Dean. 

Thank you. 

Sorry you had to write me a whole novel to get through to me, but it means a lot that you did.

[Dean]  
Yeah, don't make me do that again! Not sure I can take another heart-to-heart any time soon

[Two minutes later.]  
It's like you pry me open, Sammy

Don't even know how you do it, it just happens

[Sam]  
It's because it's me. 

I pick at you until I find a loose thread and then I pull. 

That's what it feels like.

Dean, the sun's coming up.

[Dean]  
Go catch some sleep, baby boy.

[Sam]  
I think I'll go sit on the roof and watch it.

[Dean]  
I'm gonna catch that show myself then

[Sam]  
It's perfect up here. I can see the lake over the trees, looks like liquid gold.

[Dean, after a couple of minutes]  
Sounds nice. Maybe I should come down there one day, see with my own eyes what got you waxing so lyrical

[Sam]  
You should.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some knowledge about Star Wars relationship dynamics will come in handy for understanding this chapter. (You'll still be able to enjoy it, though, even if you have no idea who Luke, Leia and Han are.)

 

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Last week of April 2008_

 

[Sam texts. Around 6:30PM.]  
It's raining like a freaking hurricane over here, like biblical flood downpour. Bobby caught wind of any demonic omens in my area?

It's wild, but kind of cool. Reminds me of that summer we spent in Louisiana.

  
[Dean, after fifteen minutes.]  
Oh, that's right, I forgot how much you love storms. They're kind of awesome, I gotta say

  
[Sam]  
Yeah they are. I've been standing by the window watching lighting flash almost continuously for about five minutes. I tried to get a picture but it didn't turn out.   
  
Hey, maybe I should be a storm chaser. Like one of those crazy asshats on TV who get up close and personal with tornadoes, you know? 

  
[Dean]  
Yeah, how about maybe you don't. I'm not following you into the eye of the storm!

  
[Sam]  
Hey I didn't ask you to, did I? You hunt monsters, I'll hunt storms. Dude, we should have our own TV show. "Crazy suicidal brothers hunting things that want to kill them (or at least don't care if they die)." That's a good tagline, that would put butts in the seats no doubt.

  
[Dean]  
Yeah, cuz I only come to save your ass after you ASK!

You feeling ok?

  
[Sam]  
Me? Hell yeah, I'm good. Well, besides the fact that I have one foot in the grave, I just realized I'm about to turn a quarter century.Dude, that's practically dead. 

  
[Dean]  
Yeah, you're fine alright.

Dude, you went to college to get out of hunting and now you're talking about some extreme freaking sports or whatever. Oh, and let's not leave out the cheerful talk about your being dead!

I kinda wanna watch that storm with you

  
[Sam]  
I really wish you were here.

It's awesome, Dean, you'd love it.

  
[Dean]  
Yeah, I know I would

We should get out in a storm sometime. I don't know, just drive. We should park baby someplace safe and then come out 

Dude, it's catching! Your crazy, I mean, chasing storms

  
[Sam]  
We share crazy, Dean, like we share blood and DNA. My crazy is your crazy. 

It's so peaceful, in a weird way. Like, rain is pounding against the windows and I'm pretty sure the tree across the street is going to start shedding branches and the thunder is unbelievable, but the way it drowns out everything else, I feel like I'm alone in the world, no worries about demons or ghosts or even finals or work. Like it's this great big natural mute button that's just tuning out everything else.

Except for you, since, you know, I'm talking to you.

  
[Dean]  
Good to see you got your priorities straight, poet of the week. "Even finals or work"? 

But yeah, I hear ya

  
[Sam]  
You want me to put worrying about class over worrying about monsters? That's the kind of crazy talk that gets people killed. 

  
[Dean]  
Read your message again, dumbass

You look like a wet baby giraffe in the rain. Or you know, a lama. Because of the hair

  
[Sam]  
Oh. Shut up, jerk. You try texting in the dark with lighting practically striking your house.

  
[Dean]  
Maybe you'll find love, Sammy

You know, cuz of the whole lightning strikes

Forget it, it's dumb. I'm half asleep

  
[Sam]  
Nah, I meant it when I said I like how peaceful it is, feeling cut off from everything, everyone but you. I'm okay with things how they are, I'm not out for some Disney romance thing.

  
[Dean]  
Well maybe you should be. I mean you're good at it. A freaking storm got you waxing poetic, it can go right to someone's head

I can see you, you know, with the candles and the storm outside and giving some lucky girl the Bambi thing

That was not something dirty, by the way! Gross! 

I meant like soulful you know

Your stupid eyes and face

Shut up

  
[Sam]  
I'm pretty sure I only have that effect on you.

  
[Dean]  
What? You don't have that effect on me! 

  
[Sam]  
Don't I? Who's waxing poetic now, huh?

  
[Dean]  
And that's bullshit, you have that effect on practically everyone you meet, dude. It's like the force or something, you just gotta learn how to control it

Did you not get the message that told you to shut up? 

  
[Sam]  
No, I must have missed that one.

And I do know how to control it, Dean, it's an act.

  
[Dean]  
So what? I've been exposed to it longer, you've mastered it on me or something?

  
[Sam]  
Why do you think I'm better talking to people than you? I'm a Jedi.

  
[Dean]  
In your dreams, Sammy. I'm the jedi master, you're the apprentice, that's always been the deal

  
[Sam]  
Well, that's a shitty deal! When do I get to be the master?

  
[Dean]  
But I gotta give it to you, you're the master when it comes to getting people eat out of your hand

When you show you can handle it

So it's all an act you say? 

  
[Sam]  
Mostly, yeah. I mean, you gotta be able to read people and figure out what they'll respond to and then give it to them, you know? You taught me that.

I don't mean everything I do is an act.

  
[Dean]  
I did?

  
[Sam]  
Sure you did. I just apply it differently. It works on a job as well as in bed.

  
[Dean]  
Well can't have picked up a lot from me. I mean most of the chicks just wanted a piece of the good stuff, no special effort required. Although I do like to make it good for them and that means figuring out what they want so I guess you have a point

  
[Sam]  
No special effort, that's hilarious. It's all just so effortless for you, you don't even realize what you're doing, do you? 

By the way that's so polite of you to want to make it good for them, you're a freaking gentleman.

  
[Dean]  
Screw you, I am! I'm not some jerk who just wants to get laid and be gone. Even when it's back against the wall with a stranger I still take care of more than my pleasure

  
[Three minutes later.]  
So, what about you? Storm outside, no electricity, you're in with someone, what's your game? 

Not like game game, you know what I mean

  
[Sam]  
No, Dean, I don't know what you mean. I'm alone, I told you that. Are you?

  
[Dean]  
I am, you lame ass. I was giving you a hypothetical situation. Wanna hear about your moves, Sammy. Since you already know all of mine, apparently

  
[Sam]  
You wanna hear about my moves? Well...can you give me more to go on? Do I actually like this hypothetical person or do I just want something from them?

  
[Dean]  
Isn't that the same thing for you in this kind of situation?

I mean you can't even kiss a girl if you don't like her. 

Not saying it's a bad thing, just saying it's how you roll

  
[Sam]  
I guess being stuck inside like this, feeling cut off from the world like this, it's a good time for telling secrets. You know, things that are too silly or too wild for daylight, stuff you never really meant to tell anyone. That's what I'd do. Start asking questions. Sharing dreams.

Dude, this is stupid. I feel like an idiot. What are you gonna do, print this out and show everyone what a stupid sap your little brother is?

  
[Dean]  
Have a little faith, Sammy

  
[Sam]  
Well, just cut it out, whatever you're doing, okay? 

  
[Dean]  
I wasn't doing anything, ok? 

  
[Sam]  
Okay.

  
[Dean, after a few minutes]  
You ok, Sammy?

  
[Sam]  
I guess so. Still feel like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or for you to chuck it at my head or something. You know you put me on edge like it’s your job, sometimes.

  
[Dean]  
Sorry, didn't mean to spook you. And I just wanna say and we can forget about it, but I thought it was nice, what you said. I mean, secrets in the dark with a beautiful boy? Killer combo

  
[Sam]  
Yeah? What secrets would you start telling?

  
[Dean]  
Nah, it's too far from here, not working, dude. Catch me in a dark room with a storm outside and we'll talk

  
[Sam]  
What if I want to talk now? 

  
[Dean]  
Although I don't know, that kind of situation? Talking would be the last thing on my mind. Sorry, Sam, you know me

I'm all ears, baby boy. Talk, I'm listening

  
[Sam]  
Yeah I know you, old one-track

Dean, don't you ever get tired of random strangers against random walls you're never gonna see again?

Don't answer that, never mind. Not my business. 

  
[Dean]  
I thought we weren't talking about a random stranger but whatever

  
[Sam]  
Yeah, like I said forget about it. 

There is witchcraft in this weather, I'm telling you. 

[After five minutes]  
Who's the best person you've ever been with, then, not a random stranger? Who would you want to take home in the middle of a storm?

  
[Dean]  
Those are two different questions

  
[Sam]  
What are you, a lawyer, now?

  
[Dean]  
What, you think only you can pull that shit, college boy?

  
[Sam]  
Okay, I'll just guess. Cassie?

  
[Dean]  
Still two different questions

  
[Sam]  
Fine, whatever, I probably don't even want to know. 

  
[Dean]  
No, you probably don't.

  
[Sam, five minutes later.]  
This storm is crazy, it looks like Force lightning out over the water.

Hey, maybe I am a Jedi master after all?  
  
You know when we were kids and you told me you were Han and I was Luke? I only realized recently that Luke is kind of a pain in the ass. 

  
[Dean]  
You’re right about that  
  
You get one more right, you can ask a question or win a coconut

  
[Sam]  
What the hell would I do with a coconut?

Probably throw it at your stupid head. 

  
[Dean]  
And you think you're a Jedi master? Dude, a real Jedi would never throw coconuts at someone's head!

  
[Sam]  
Maybe I don't want to be a Jedi, then, if it means I don't get to retaliate when my brother's being a jerk. 

  
[Dean]  
Anyway, Luke wasn't so bad

  
[Sam]  
Leia was cooler than him and she wore cinnamon rolls on her head.

Okay, Luke isn't that bad. 

  
[Dean]  
He was kinda whiney and annoying at the start but then he got better

  
[Sam]  
He did get to make out with Leia that one time. 

  
[Dean]  
Looked like he enjoyed it

Leia was smoking hot. Man, rolls or no rolls on her head, cool chick. 

  
[Sam]  
Yeah he did.

I mean who wouldn't. 

  
[Dean]  
Right? He was really into her

  
[Sam]  
Totally. And anyway, Han is a badass and infinitely cooler but he and Leia make no sense together, you know that's never gonna last. 

I'm pretty sure she kisses Luke more than Han over the course of the trilogy. I think I counted once. 

  
[Dean]  
There was that time when it was for luck. It was on the cheek, but it's Star Wars, it's like they full on made out for five minutes!

She must have liked it too

But I can kind of see it working with Han. She was uptight and she was always pushing his buttons, telling him what to do, and she was a smart ass, I mean you'd think the dude's gonna run, but no. I guess it was all that opposites attract business

  
[Sam]  
Oh, so you're saying she's a bossy princess? No wonder you like her. 

  
[Dean]  
Pain in the ass bossy princess. You don't wanna know what I'd do

  
[Sam]  
What would you do? Tell me

  
[Dean]  
I'd treat a princess like a princess, that’s what. Take my time, you know, I'd watch for clues about what feels good

Gotta work that smart ass edge off 

And there's one sure way to do it, you know what it is

  
[Sam]  
What is it? What would you do? Tell me. 

  
[Dean]  
Fucking, Sammy. Slow and sweet at first until I get that crazy hot body boneless

Then hard, long and hard, so good, I'm not gonna wanna stop

  
[Sam]  
I don't think stopping would be an option, not until you finish what you started anyway.

  
[Dean after a couple of minutes]  
That storm still going?

  
[Sam]  
No, it's winding down. Just a little lightning along the horizon. 

  
[Dean]  
Good. So you can go to bed.

Now that you don't need me to hold your hand anymore

  
[Sam]  
I will if you answer me one thing. 

  
[Dean]  
Man, like a dog with a bone

Alright, if that's gonna get me some sleep

  
[Sam]  
You might regret that choice of words when I ask you. 

  
[Dean]  
Just ask

  
[Sam]  
Were you touching yourself just now? I'll answer if you do. 

  
[Dean]  
No, I wasn't. Were you?

  
[Sam]  
Maybe, yeah. Kind of. 

  
[Dean]  
Didn't get to cross the finish line then?

  
[Sam]  
No

I didn't mean to. I mean, I thought you were

But that's not WHY

Never mind

  
[Dean]  
Not much blood left for upstairs eh, Sammy?

You don't need to tell me why you did it

  
[Sam]  
Shut up

  
[Dean]  
Truth? I was waiting for after we finished talking.

  
[Sam]  
Your princess fantasy got you going, Dean? That what you're gonna think about?

Cause the way you talk about fucking, Dean, you make it sound like the best thing in the world. 

  
[Dean]  
It can be.

And I thought you might have been doing that

  
[Sam]  
Doing it, actually. As in currently. If you don't mind. Couldn’t wait. 

  
[Dean]  
I wanted to make it good for you

If I'd started I wouldn't have been able to focus

  
[Sam]  
You did. Jesus. Thinking about what you said hard and fast 

Do it anyway d

Race you

  
[Dean]  
No, your turn, told you I knew how to take care of someone

  
[Sam, two minutes later]  
Too slow. I win

  
[Dean]  
I didn't race you, couldn't focus to text couldn't think

You good?

  
[Sam]  
So good.

So awkward. Sorry, dude. Weird night. Blame the voodoo storm. 

But yeah, really really fucking good. 

Guess I should let you go now

  
[Dean]  
Told you already, stop explaining

  
[Sam]  
Unless you want me to stay?

  
[Dean]  
No, just wanted to know you're good

  
[Sam]  
Okay. Enjoy. 

I know you will. I did. 

I'm gonna go sleep for a week. 

  
[Dean]  
Night, Sam.

  
[Sam]  
Night Dean. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

 

 

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

 

_Second week of May 2008_

 

[Sam texts. Around 3:30PM.]  
I just talked to Bobby, are you okay? What's going on?

  
[Dean]  
What? Why?

  
[Sam]  
Bobby says you're being a pain in the ass. And that I could quote him on that. So don't pull that "who me" crap. What's going on?

  
[Dean]  
Well that's nice. You two talk often? Good to know I got two of you on my case now!

  
That's rich coming from Bobby who's like a ray of fucking sunshine 

  
[Sam]  
Hey, if you wanna go fight it out with him I'll be here when you get back. 

 

[Dean]  
He saw me buying an insurance policy, ok? It's not a big deal, it's stupid, I'm not even gonna make the payments, I regret it already. But he was giving me the eye for like two days after that and I snapped so we had words and apparently, I'm being a pain in the ass and whatever!

  
[Sam]  
Insurance, like...I'm guessing not car insurance.

  
[Dean]  
No. Life

Forget about it

  
[Sam]  
Okay. Why aren't you gonna make the payments?

  
[Dean]  
Are you kidding me? It was stupid to even think about it, I don't know, I was having a weird day. Can we drop this now? I'm fine

  
And where the hell have you been?

  
[Sam]  
I know you're fine. Is this about how I've been on your case about things, being careful and everything? 

  
What do you mean? I've been right here.

  
[Dean]  
Oh my god if anyone asks me one more time about the freaking thing I'm going to start throwing punches, I swear!

  
I haven’t talked to you since your birthday!

  
[Sam]  
Okay, sorry, let's drop it.

  
Guess it's been awhile, I'm sorry. I was sick last week, spent it spaced out in bed, now I’m trying to catch up.

  
[Dean]  
What? How sick? What was it?

  
Man, I don't want you on my ass ever again about being careful and telling you about every damn scratch I ever got

  
[Sam]  
Just a cold, no big deal. Crashed after exams, I guess, and now I’ve got a ton of reading for my summer classes.

  
[Dean]  
You ok now?

  
[Sam]  
Yes, I'm okay and the last I checked a cold isn't out to use me as a chewtoy and spit me into hell when it's done. Do you even realize the colossal double standards you have for us? 

  
[Dean]  
Dude, what is this place? They’re prepping you all for presidents? That's just wrong

  
[Sam]  
It's only two classes I'm trying to get out of the way so I don't have to be in school the rest of my life.

  
[Dean]  
What? No double standards. You're my little brother. Do I have to bring up the diapers again?

  
Was there anyone there to take care of your miserable ass?

  
[Sam]  
Mention the diapers again and we're done. Can we maybe pretend for five minutes that I'm not your stupid kid brother you had to take care of your whole life? You'd mock the hell out of someone making a big deal about a cold, if it was anyone other than me.

  
Yeah, I threw a pity party and all my friends came by with soup and crackers, it was great.

  
[Dean]  
Dude, I'd mock the hell out of you too and I have 

  
I guess it's easier to mock you when you and your snotty nose are around for me to mock

  
So what, you didn't have some chick around to play hot nurse for you?

  
[Sam]  
Dude, that’s as bad as talking about diapers. I'm 25. 25 year olds don't get snotty noses. Are you even capable of seeing me as anything other than your baby brother?

  
[Dean]  
Yes I am.

  
[Sam]  
Sometimes I wonder.

  
[Dean]  
Don’t

  
I'll always see you as my baby brother, Sam. But that's not all I see

  
[After a couple of minutes.]  
Sorry, Sammy, I've been cranky for days. I should probably apologize to Bobby too

  
[Sam]  
Don't apologize. Well, maybe to Bobby, but not to me. 

  
It's just that I'm sitting here thinking about you, and us, and our family, and the life we lead. About the way we were brought up and yet somehow, here we still are, and it's just hard to fathom. I just can't imagine that you, in any other circumstances, would give a shit about me, except that we're blood and you had it beaten into you that that's what matters. 

  
And I probably shouldn't even be saying this because it scares the hell out of me, but what happens on the day you wake up and realize that it doesn't really matter, that what matters is having someone to watch your back, and I'm not that person anymore. 

  
I don't think that's going to happen, but sometimes I have this stupid fucked up thought that I should just be grateful you only see me as your baby brother because that's what keeps you around.

  
[Dean]  
Dude, where did you get all that from? You think too much, I was kinda hoping school would wear you out

  
[Sam]  
I do think too much. I wish I could turn it off sometimes.

  
[Dean]  
I don't know what I'll be thinking when I wake up tomorrow or in five years or whenever. But I can tell you who I'll be thinking about

  
I thought about you every single day while you were in Stanford, Sam. Some days it was all I could think about

  
[Sam]  
Those must have been pretty boring days.

  
[Dean]  
I'm not even gonna answer that

  
Dude, you're like hitting me with the heavy stuff and I'm still sitting here thinking how much I wanna see you. That's what's real

  
[Sam]  
Why couldn't you have just told me that, what made you allergic to picking up the phone all those years? The first year I was so miserable some days I was like a second away from crawling back to you and dad. If it wasn’t for my damn stubborn pride I would've, too. If you'd given me anything to go on.

  
Even after all this caring and sharing? It must be real.

  
[Dean]  
You better believe it

  
You left and I thought that was what you wanted. Dad was so angry and he needed me so I did what I thought was right

  
[Sam]  
I don't get you, Dean.

  
[Dean]  
That's cuz you're looking too deep, princess. You're like physically incapable of shallow thought

  
[Sam]  
I was gonna go for some kind of Little Mermaid joke but I only saw half of that movie the one time before you made me turn it off, so I guess that's a bust.

  
[Dean]  
Aw, princess, you wanted to see some movie about another princess? Shoulda said

  
[Sam]  
I didn't say that, you jerk. It was just supposed to be something about looking too deep like in the ocean or whatever when the prince she was after was on land...in the shallows...or something. Dammit Dean the fact that I'm even trying to justify my princess metaphor is entirely your fault and you're an asshole

  
[Dean]  
Sammy that's sweet. But it kind of proves my point. See, simple guy over here. You talk about a movie, so all I'm thinking about now is taking you to the movies

   
I'll even let you talk about your feelings after the movie's over

  
Or cry

  
[Sam]  
Deal. You can pay. But this princess doesn't put out on the first date, so maybe you wanna reconsider.

  
[Dean]  
This princess hasn't been out on a date with me

  
[Sam]  
Oh yeah, you think your moves could work on me? Don't forget I've been watching you develop them since I was about ten. I know all your tricks.

  
[Dean]  
There's one big difference here, Sammy. You're smart, you can figure it out

  
[Sam]  
Don't tell me I'm not actually a princess. You're breaking my heart, D.

  
[Dean]  
That wasn't it and you keep that sassy mouth on you, you might not see more than the first five minutes of the movie

  
[Sam]  
Threat or promise?

  
[Dean]  
Oh that's a promise

  
[Sam]  
Good.

  
[Dean]  
It's all moot anyway. Screw my moves, I'd wanna make you feel good, that's all

  
[Sam]  
Given how you make me feel just with tiny words on a stupid phone screen, I don't think that'd be a problem for you.

  
[Dean]  
How do I make you feel, baby boy? Good?

  
[Sam]  
You put me on top of the fucking world, Dean. Nothing else to say about it. 

  
[Dean]  
Sounds like it should be

I'll talk to you soon, Sammy.

  
[Sam]  
Wait, what about you. What do I do to you?

Dean?

  
[Dean]  
God Sam, just let it go ok? Please let it go

  
[Sam]  
No. Why? I can't.

Ok. Ok. Sorry.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_January – June 2008_

_Dean_

When Sam left for college in January Dean was just as unprepared as he’d been the first time, years ago. Knowing about it in advance didn’t make much of a difference and neither did the talking—sometimes initiated by Dean himself, as opposed to caving into Sam’s relentless pursuit to schedule daily heart-to-hearts. On the first night after Sam drove off in the car that Dean had fixed up for him, Dean lay down on his bed in Bobby’s guest room and stared up at the ceiling in utter silence. He hadn’t even brought a beer with him, or his phone. He just lay in there and when it became too much, he succumbed to it: the all-encompassing, throbbing ache that was Sam’s absence on the other bed. He didn’t shift from his position, didn’t even tighten his arms folded across his chest. He just let himself feel ravaged to the bone by how much he was already missing Sammy, how much Sam meant to him. The only way for Dean to imagine he would have somehow managed to get on with his life was to first let himself dread that he simply wouldn’t.

But maybe those things had helped after all: knowing, talking, the Buick, into which it had felt as if Dean was sneaking bits of himself while working on it. (He should probably make a note of that. ‘Hey Sam, if I die and come back haunting your ass, salt and burn your LeSabre.’ It would be some small revenge for being made to fix up an old lady’s car for his dorky little brother.) Missing Sam was always going to be inevitable, but at least this time around Dean had been spared the thick, choking cloud of poisonous fumes that were his anger, dejection and hurt after Sam’s turbulent departure for Stanford. Now the two of them had the last two years they’d spent together on the road. They’d been through so much: losing their father, coming perilously close to losing each other, killing the monster that had impacted their lives irrevocably over twenty years ago. They were different people, alone and together. Sam’s decision to leave hadn't come from the same place that it had the first time, and this time Sammy had tried to involve Dean, too. 

But while Dean might have avoided some of the post-Stanford backlash, they _had_ just been through so much together, and Dean’s unpreparedness stemmed from that. He missed Sam in a different way than he had five years ago. When they’d started looking for their dad and hunting together again, it hadn’t been a matter of just re-acquainting himself with his little brother. At times Sam had felt like a new person Dean needed to get to know from scratch. There was something significantly different in the way they were together after their reunion; or rather, the way they weren’t. They were no longer the way they’d been as children and teenagers, because neither of them were either of those things anymore. 

Sure, some things never changed. Sam was still a pain in the ass little brother and Dean was still an awesome big brother. Sam was also the same moody bitch who stared at you silently with angst-slanted eyes when you wanted him to just spit it out. And that was only when he wasn’t giving you the soulful gaze, pleading with you to share and care, when all you wanted was to drive your damn car and listen to some good music. But the differences were just as starkly clear. The two of them had become partners more than they’d ever been. Their teamwork had reached unprecedented heights, driven by some natural forces from within and by their shared experiences: they’d killed ghosts, vengeful spirits, vampires, shifters, a wendigo...They’d exorcised demons and killed _the_ Demon. Sam had been possessed; Dean had most likely met his Reaper. They were equals now in many ways, both as hunters and as individuals. Sometimes Dean felt the four-year gap between them just as keenly as he had when he was seventeen going on eighteen and Sammy was barely thirteen. But more often than not Sam was just as resourceful, experienced and grown up as Dean. Hell, sometimes the kid was the more mature of the two of them, and a comment or two may have been made to that effect. So Dean had shown Sam who was boss and was certainly not going to own up to it in public, but privately he didn’t completely disagree. 

Sam had always been an old soul anyway. They never had to teach him stuff like other kids: that you had to share, that you had to figure out whether a fight was worth it, that you couldn’t always get what you wanted… Some days Dean had wished that little Sammy would roll around on the supermarket floor and throw a tantrum like Dean had seen other kids do, instead of folding up even smaller in his corner of the back seat and looking out the window when he was upset, eyes big and incomprehensible. 

Sometimes Dean wondered whether he’d ever outgrow that urge to find out what Sam wanted and just give it to him. 

The biggest change in those two years they spent on the road was how entangled they’d become. Living in each other’s pockets was the only way they’d known and remembered, so it wasn’t that. It just felt that Sam being there, the two of them being together all the time… It had become something more. It was kind of like thinking about a plane in flight. You looked at it from the ground and you saw a small, elegant thing high up in the skies, gliding forward seamlessly, steady and sedate. Then you remembered it was actually moving at freaking five-hundred miles per hour, engines roaring, forces pushing up and down, holding back and thrusting forward - this huge, complex machinery that weighed a ton. That was them—both of those things.

\---

Dean had thought he was actually doing okay after Sam left until, a few days in, he realized that Bobby kept looking at him funny, as if he’d been given Dean’s medical papers after a major health scare. A couple of weeks later a case turned up and it was suggested yet again that Dean “get this one”. This one turned out to be a crocotta. If the Campbells hadn’t had Dean’s back for a couple of months by then, Dean would have thought his mother’s family had teamed up with Bobby to get Dean killed, such was the steady stream of jobs coming his way from all of them. 

“Brooding isn’t always attractive,” Gwen informed him one night, “even if you’ve been given all of nature’s advantages to make it look good.”

It was soon after the crocotta, and they were out at a nice local place in Sioux Falls, Christian playing pool, Dean and Gwen drinking, standing at the bar. 

Dean had always liked Gwen best and she was the only one with whom he still kept in touch, albeit irregularly, after he and the Campbells parted ways. Dean hadn’t planned to single out Gwen but the parting of the ways hadn’t exactly been planned, either. One day, close to two months after Sammy left, Matthew took off on a hunt with Christian and Gwen, and Dean still couldn’t tell how the communication passed between all of them without a single word but everyone present knew they wouldn’t be meeting up again after that one. Bobby and Dean watched the clouds of dust settle after their pickup and walked back into the house in silence. Once inside, Bobby turned to face Dean and dragged, “Well, that settles that, I s’ppose.” After Dean’s delayed, “Yeah,” Bobby got into the chair behind his desk. Fifteen minutes later he and Dean were talking about trickster lore, the Campbells forgotten. Dean hadn’t even thought of them until three days later when Gwen called to tell him that those rumors that had been flying around about a bunch of skinwalkers in Texas were false, and so Dean should save himself a tank of gas. Dean had been planning to take off that same afternoon. Probably a coincidence but remembering the chat he’d had with Gwen in that dive in Sioux Falls, Dean had to consider that the woman tended to show a sort of sixth sense about him.

When Gwen had made her ‘brooding’ comment, Dean assumed she’d started a new topic while he was tuned out. His ‘Huh?’ must have come across loud and clear without him making the actual sound, because Gwen smirked. 

“Case in point,” she said. “You weren’t listening to me.”

Dean frowned, genuinely puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you, moron. You, pining for Sam.” 

The blow Dean experienced at her words was reminiscent of being caught red-handed, never mind that he kept his crime firmly under a lid. In a cellar. In a dark house deep in the woods. 

“I’m not pining!” At least the guilt encouraged his acting skills and gave his indignant tone a ring of truthful passion. 

Gwen still had her teasing smirk on her lips, but her gaze stayed on him, watchful. “Not from where I’m standing. You sell it when you make it look like brooding, but it’s kind of getting old.”

“Bullshit. Wasn’t even thinking about my brother.” The moment he said it Dean was no longer sure whether he wasn’t lying.

“Look, I get it,” Gwen told him. “This life, we don’t think of family like other people do. We’re all we’ve got, we stick with each other.” She shrugged a little. “But we also learn to move on quicker. Holding on to someone is a luxury when you never know if today isn’t the last day you’ll spend with them.”

Dean hadn’t replied to that, mostly because, liking Gwen or not, he wasn’t going to tell her that Sam checking out and leaving Dean behind simply wasn’t an option. For one thing, it would have meant Dean stopping for more than a few seconds to entertain the possibility of that scenario and he wasn’t feeling anywhere near drunk or masochistic enough to do that. (At least it reminded Dean that Sam leaving for college did have its silver lining. The mortality rate of college students was far more reassuring than that of monster hunters.) 

So Dean chose not to correct Gwen, because it might have led her to questioning whether he was merely being overdramatic or he actually had a plan in place for such an occurrence. The truth was that he didn’t have one, inasmuch as he hadn’t worked out his actions step by step or prepared in practical terms. But he knew that if it ever came to that, he would do whatever it took to get Sam back. He was aware of the options out there in the way other people were aware they were breathing.

He just made a noncommittal sound at Gwen’s remark, instead, wishing she would change the subject. Yet oddly enough, part of him was also hoping she’d say something else about family. It was the closest Dean had come in some time to having a reference point for his own family, which now consisted only of him and Sam. He knew the Campbells were blood; they were a miraculous link to Mom and Dean had embraced them for that. For the pack mentality they had brought with them, too, which meant Dean could go with their flow for a bit. After killing Yellow Eyes he felt as if someone had blindfolded him, spun him around and let him loose, directionless. He was still grieving for his father and he was beginning to worry that Sam would take off again. Matthew, Christian and Gwen had been a welcome distraction and addition to Dean’s life. Matthew had a lot of Dad’s gruff authority, being close to him in age and temper. Christian annoyed him with his snarky attitude, but he was good at his job and he could hold his liquor. Gwen was going to be the best hunter out of the three pretty soon. She had a good head on her shoulders and there was something sensitive about her that came out when she was away from her brother and their uncle; something that Dean understood without much pondering.

“So you just give it time,” Gwen went on, proving Dean’s point. He both appreciated and resented her awkward attempts of support. Whatever he was doing, pining for Sam or just getting used to being without him again, it was Dean’s business. Maybe he didn’t see it as something bad, something he’d need to ‘treat’ like a freaking disease and get over it. 

He was missing his brother like hell and maybe he didn’t want it to go away.

Dean suspected that the Campbells were probably wondering why he never made plans to visit Sam or why he never talked about the two of them meeting up. They didn’t ask; they kept themselves to themselves, which suited Dean just fine. Weeks turned into months and he still thought of them as family but it was turning more and more into an abstract term instead of one in front of which you could slap ‘my’ and find that those two little letters sat there right as rain. They weren’t getting closer, not in the way Dean sensed they should, now that they had a lot of hunts together under their belts. They’d stitched each other up, saved each other’s asses, listened to each other’s barked commands when things got heated. They were all on the same wavelength: addicted, goal-oriented, unable to fathom an identity or existence outside of thе one they already had. Not one of them was a people-person, not in the way Sam could be. 

Dean was perpetually finding Sam-shaped holes in his life. He knew it was making him a little resentful towards his cousins and uncle, just as he knew how irrational it was to expect them to be like Sam. He didn’t care. Sometimes when he spoke to Sam or they exchanged text messages, the paradox of the experience gave him a crushing headache: how was it possible that Sam being so different from Dean translated into driving Dean further away from the Campbells, instead of pulling him closer? They were all so alike; they sure wanted the same things as Dean. Well, aside from Dean wanting nothing more than being with Sam. That was Dean’s, alone.

Yes, the Campbells were family, but they didn’t feel like family the way Sammy did. No one felt the way Sammy did. Matthew, Gwen and Christian might have brought in the pack mentality, but they weren’t _Dean’s_ pack. Which was why the only thing that surprised him, on the day the idea of following Sammy showed up fully formed inside his head, was that it had taken him so long to actually do it.

\---

The texting started as soon as Sam left for Madison in January. It went on for three and a half months, until it reached a chasm that there was just no jumping over. Dean certainly wasn’t going to let Sam take that leap, especially when he wasn’t sure Sam even realized what gaped, hungry and irreversible, below them. They also talked on the phone regularly, checking on each other and catching up, but while the other track ended abruptly just before the deadly drop, the phone conversations continued, albeit somewhat stilted in the first couple of weeks after the texting stopped. 

Sometimes Dean wondered about how things would have been different between them if they’d kept in touch while Sam was in Stanford. They still hadn’t elaborated on that period of their lives. Once or twice Sam said stuff that made Dean doubt they had the same memories of how things went down, but he wasn’t touching that one with a ten foot pole. It was enough for Dean Winchester’s emotional capacity to have to deal with the fallout of their current situation; adding the Ghost of College Past was bound to mess him up real good, so no thanks. He didn’t trust what might have risen its ugly head and he didn’t want to risk it, now that he and Sam were finally on the same page.

If only Dean could be sure this applied to their texting as well. Almost from the start Dean’s gut feeling had been to keep the talking and the texting separated and treat them as two parallel realities that never converged. There was some irrefutable logic behind the idea that this was the only way he got to keep them both. They felt good in entirely different ways: talking was like having something wholesome in their relationship as brothers, and texting…Texting was like precious stones lying shattered under a crazy summer sky. Sometimes Dean couldn’t even look at them; sometimes he couldn’t take his eyes off of them.

_‘Don't need to butter me up, Sammy, I told you you're my number one’_

_‘Yeah, I know. You're mine too. Whatever imaginary person you've dreamed up for me, they don't exist, no. Just you.’_

_‘I got no experience, Sammy. You're the only boy I've ever wanted to make feel special’_

_‘You're good at it.’_

_‘Do you like it?’_

_‘Yeah.’_

_‘How do I make you feel, baby boy? Good?’_

_‘You put me on top of the fucking world, Dean.’_

 

Maybe there was another question Dean should have been asking himself all along and it was how much his decision to take off to Madison had been connected to the abrupt stop they’d put on the texting. Thanks to his nerves being shot to pieces in the days after he'd pleaded with Sam, 'God Sam let it go. Please let it go', Dean didn't even have the actual exchanges anymore to go through and figure out how much they had to do with anything. He'd called Sam for the first time five days after that last exchange; Sam hadn't picked up and hadn't returned Dean's call for six hours. Each minute had felt like a pin slowly piercing through Dean's skin. He'd tried doing stuff: took out all the empty beer bottles, polished a few car mirrors, cleaned his handgun, even freaking started peeling off the wallpaper in Bobby's guestroom and that thing might have been weeping to be put to rest but come on! Nothing worked. All the while Dean could feel his phone burning a hole in his pocket, searing its imprint on his skin until Dean had to take it out, slam it on the nearest hard surface. It didn't help; the phone was mutely watching him, its silence just as heavy as a lot of the silences between Dean and Sam had always been but this time so dense in its inscrutability, it was like Dean was trying to breathe under water.

Eventually he grabbed it and went blindly through every single message of Sam's, deleting them all, then did the same with his own messages. The pins' prickling was momentarily relieved. 

Sam called him back twenty minutes later. He'd been in the library, his battery had died but then he'd had classes so he only found out there was a missed call from Dean when he plugged in his phone back home. Dean knew without a shadow of a doubt his brother wasn't lying. Their conversation sounded a bit rehearsed but they were talking. They were talking and Dean was a dumbass, who no longer had their text exchanges saved on his phone. He sure as hell wasn't going to start churning out new ones.

There was no winning for him anyway, what did it matter?! If he’d remained hooked up only on the messages, he’d have kept upping the dosage until he said something he could never take back. Going cold turkey had lasted less than two months and he was driving to Madison, abstinence driving him. When he thought about their texting on the way there, he felt bereft. His only consolation was the thought that if he got to see Sam face to face, he'd sober up big time and at least they wouldn’t be in danger of crossing any lines anymore.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_June 2008, Madison, WI_

_Dean_

Sam was tanned; of course he was, what with the freaking _glorious weather_. Glowing dark skin but not too dark—just perfect to showcase Sam’s blinding smile and bright eyes. The latter were staring up at Dean now, vulnerable and guarded all at once. God, the kind of shit that boy could pull off. 

The blinding smile was nowhere in sight.

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean offered his own smile instead, hoping to get some mirroring action going on. 

None happened. A lump the size of a large walnut appeared in Dean’s throat. 

Sam shifted as if to get up but remained seated, upturned face still stunned. “Dean. What are you doing here?”

Dean kept smiling, forcing the stretch of his lips to turn gregarious. “I came to check on my little brother. Make sure you’re doing college life right this time around.”

“Right…” Sam dragged the word with his patent mild suspicion. He finally unfolded himself upwards, making Dean regret his lack of foresight. He should have walked up the steps of the church, gained some leverage, but Sammy had opened his eyes as soon as Dean’s shadow fell on his face and that was the end of Dean’s advancement, both physical and mental.

Sam now rose so tall, for a moment Dean imagined he’d have blocked the sun if it wasn’t beating down on Dean’s back from behind.

“There was a job two-hundred miles from here,” Dean added truthfully, skipping over the part about how the decision to come here had been made some days before he’d gotten wind of the job. “I finished it and I thought I’d stop by,” he continued. “Talk to you about something.” 

Dean’s last few words almost got lost in the noise of a bunch of people—wearing clothes with more colors than should have been legal—appearing out of nowhere. A couple of them actually slid past between Sam and Dean in a rush, making Sam pull back. 

Dean’s body swayed forward on its own volition, eager. A less perceptible ripple ran over Sam’s body at that, but he didn’t take another step back to widen the distance between them. It wasn’t a smile, it wasn’t much; but right now it meant Dean could finally swallow without fear that the phantom walnut would lodge itself down his windpipe and cut off his oxygen for good. 

“Can we go talk somewhere?” he asked. “I’m starving.” 

That was mostly true. Three minutes ago Dean would have thought he’d throw up any food he tried to put in his mouth, but now his stomach contracted with hunger. 

His vision swam with Sam’s familiar presence, looming and making Dean’s heart seize with the retroactive pain of missing it. Part of Dean still couldn’t quite believe he was here for real. Hell, maybe part of him struggled to believe that Sam was real—a real person who had pressed the keys on his phone all those times, forming words, putting sentences together and taking Dean apart. It was the first time Dean was looking at Sam knowing what he knew, what existed between them, even if it was unspoken. No wonder Sam seemed overwhelmingly alien, while also being the most expected shape in Dean’s vicinity anywhere in the world. It was the part of Dean that could smell Sam that could probably eat an elephant. Dean had only had a soda and some beef jerky in the last seven hours. Now he wanted to stuff himself with burgers and pie then wash it all down with a few beers. 

Okay, maybe it wasn’t just part of him. He felt so damn hungry and thirsty.

He gulped, the hair on his neck standing to attention at the discovery that he’d just checked out mentally for an indefinite number of seconds. “Dude,” he prompted, realizing that Sam was standing there in silence, too, expression close to mesmerized.

“Yeah, ah, sure. Let’s go.” Sam’s voice came out startled, a little breathless. He picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, t-shirt wrinkling as some of the material got twisted and trapped under the backpack’s strap. When Dean’s eyes moved back to Sam’s face again it was just in time to catch a smile explode on it. 

“Dude,” Sam echoed with delay, hands flying to Dean’s shoulders to grab them. “You’re here.” He took a step closer, beaming down at Dean. Dean half expected Sam to shake him lightly, but all he felt was steady, grounding weight, warm in a way that didn’t scald but made Dean sense his roots under him, solid and healthy at long last again.

“You’re freaking here,” Sam repeated.

“Wow,” Dean retorted. “They sure give those scholarships to the smartest cookies.” 

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out of him. He suddenly frowned, squinty eyes focusing on Dean's nose. 

“Hey,” he said, frown clearing up to give way to the recurring appearance of the grin. “Are you wearing sunblock?”

\---

Dean shoved a huge spoonful of hot fudge sundae into his mouth and found his chest rumbling with appreciation even before his taste buds had sent the message of approval to his brain. He just knew this was going to be good. Across from him Sam’s shoulders jumped a little with his light snort, his eyes reduced to two glowing slits of fondness—even in his current state of overload Dean could decipher the emotion. 

The overload was a nasty son of a bitch. Sam was at the center of it, his nearness causing clogging of circuits, redirection of traffic and occasional shutdowns. On their way to _Michael’s Frozen Custard_ , a series of euphoric jolts had run through Dean, making it possible to keep up with the conversation only because Sam was blabbering on and on about their surroundings and everything under the sun. Dean was kind of proud for being able to come up with a couple of strategically placed witty comments, throwing Sam off any scent he might have caught of Dean being anything but his usual self.

Dean’s lucky streak ended as soon as they sat down, his slip of the tongue not quite a source of pride.

“Sammy, look at this!” Dean had exclaimed while checking out the _All American Sundae_ section of the menu, having first drooled all over _Burgers_. 

“I thought you were going to like it here.”

“Like it?” Dean paused for a moment, distracted for the fifth time by other people’s choices of food being brought to them—in this case a bacon cheese burger that Dean would have taken for his last meal, thanks. “It’s awesome.”

“They have the best hot fudge sundae I’ve ever tried,” Sam told him pointedly, snapping Dean’s eyes back to himself. 

“Hot fudge sund—Sammy, I love you.”

The moment the words had left Dean’s mouth the floor had opened under his feet. Sam’s lips, frozen in the indulgent grin he’d been giving Dean, sent the clear message that the words had been noted…but the message then continued into white noise as to their reception. Sam’s eyes didn’t help much, fixed unblinking on Dean’s face in what could have equally been adoration or accusation. Or some complex third thing that Dean’s simple soul could never get. Sam was impossible to read beyond his obvious _‘I heard this,_ ’ freeze frame reaction. 

Dean’s instincts had kicked in, a brazen wink adding to the smack he’d given Sam’s lower arm with the back of his fingers. It had felt horribly off, a good few seconds separating the words and the gestures; but another two beats later, during which Sam’s dazed gaze had dropped with a delay of its own to the spot where Dean had smacked him, he’d taken a breath and given Dean’s foot a light kick under the table.

“You’re paying,” Sam told him, grin still hard to interpret. “I’m a poor student now.”

They’d gone on talking about Sam’s job, the air shifting back to ease. Dean already knew everything there was to know about Sam’s life thanks to their regular catch-ups over the phone, but watching his brother’s animated face as he repeated what he’d told Dean in some form or other was enough to make Dean listen as if the stuff was hot from the printer. 

Sam was actually doing okay money-wise and as for his actual occupation, Dean reiterated his opinion on the bartender gig: “You’re finally doing something that makes it cool to call you my little brother.”

“Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Sam said. “But you’re not getting more than one free drink on the house either way. Maybe two, seeing that you’ve finally decided to make the trip out here.” 

Dean saw it, for the fifth or sixth time in the last half hour—the opening to just come out and say it. An opening Sam had no idea he kept giving him, like when he’d asked about Dean’s latest hunts or when he wanted to talk about feelings. (“But you’re not just drifting, right? You’re still doing it because that’s what you want to do?”) 

In the sixty minutes they’d already spent at the diner, Sam had given him all kinds of openings apart from an actual one. He hadn’t asked Dean directly what he wanted to talk to him about or anything remotely connected to Dean’s plans for the day, let alone in general. It was as if Sam saw him every day or as if he hadn’t really thought about why Dean had come. The boy was talking, too, hadn’t shut up, hands constantly stacking and rearranging invisible cubes in the air in front of him. The food had warmed Dean’s stomach and more delicious smells were wafting from all kinds of sources, making all of Dean’s senses spike up with the stimulation. It added to the high-voltage hum he hadn’t stopped feeling from the moment he’d spotted his brother on the church steps. 

But with his stomach full and his heavy jacket off, Dean had also relaxed enough to pick up on some things, such as how easy it was to get confused and take Sam’s liveliness at face value. It made Dean tense up again, thinking that maybe Sam _was_ wound up. It was enough to set off a quiet ticking clock at the back of Dean’s mind; a bomb he consoled himself he still had a chance to defuse by hanging out with Sam for the afternoon, then getting into his car and driving away from here, lips sealed about his true intentions upon arrival.

Sam shifted in his seat across from Dean and took out his cell, checking something. A sunbeam refracted off its display and for a few seconds lit up the inside of Sam’s wrist, drawing Dean’s attention. It was wide and strong, but still boyish. It was white, the veins fine. It was Sam’s, it probably smelled of Sam. Sam’s fingers and palms, delicate but strong too. Holding the phone like something loved, the small paper cut on Sam’s middle finger matching a scratch on the phone’s casing to perfection.

They had to have put some rum in those sundaes. Not only was Dean noticing absurd details, he was wanting to do even more absurd, dangerous shit.

Sam lifted his head, the gesture drawing Dean’s gaze up. Their eyes met. Had Sam’s lashes always curled up so much at the corners of his eyes?

Dean averted his eyes, abruptly aware of the ticking bomb again. Yeah, defusing it would have perversely felt like tearing his limbs off. There was no driving off ‘just like that’ from here. The thought of being away from Sam again today was…no.

Sam took another couple of chips from Dean’s basket, swallowing the tiny one whole and biting only half of the second one. He’d eaten several chips, picking out the ones without any salt on them. He looked damn good. His hair was a mess, of course, plenty of strands that hadn’t decided whether they were short or long, some of them not sure about their rightful place, either, especially around Sam’s ears. But Dean had magnanimously overlooked the state of Sam’s hair for two years so he wasn’t going to start failing now. 

Sam was obviously eating healthy stuff and getting some regular shuteye. He must have been exercising, too, although the evidence of that was more in the periphery of Dean’s perceptions. He’d tried hard to accomplish the challenge of keeping his eyes on Sam while not actually looking at him, afraid that any further dwelling on details such as the width of Sam’s chest or the strong column of his neck would have actually ruined the moment: the haze in which Sam was just near, looking about a thousand times better than Dean’s best memory of him.

“Dude.” Sam fidgeted across from him. “Do I have some food on my face?”

Dean started, eyes jumping away then back to Sam’s face, registering that Sam had spoken with more seriousness than the question required. 

“What? No.” Dean took a quick breath. “So, nice food. Bars…What else do you do around here?”

“I _work_ at the bar.” Sam went on, hand indicating the predominantly youthful population around them. “And most of us around here are actually studying, you know?” Sam’s eyebrows had risen as if Dean was the one embarrassing himself with the things he was saying. Dean made sure his face informed Sam on his feelings.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, big dork.”

They fell into silence again, for several long seconds. Sam’s nails were scraping lightly over his napkin. 

“You want to see where I live?” he asked quietly.

Dean knew all about the house-share and felt as if he’d already met some of Sam’s housemates. Technically, he had, albeit over the phone. He vaguely wondered whether it would be appropriate to thank Kate for the instrumental part she and her girlfriend had played in operation ‘get trashed Sam home’.

“Yeah,” he said. “Will I meet any of your roommates?”

“Probably only Ahmed. Not sure about Felicity, but Kate and Asher are at work, and Jasmine has lectures all day.”

“You’ve got a roommate called Jasmine?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“She a stripper?”

“Dean…”

“She’s hot, isn’t she?”

“Dean!” Sam was looking at him with his best pursed lips. 

Dean lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture. “All I’m saying is, you don’t know what anyone with a name like that gets up to while she’s saying she’s got lectures all day.”

“Do you realize how sexist you sound?” At odds with the reproach in the question, Sam’s lips had loosened up. 

“Just kidding, Sammy.”

“Well, you’ve got to promise me you’ll watch your mouth if you see anyone I know, all right?” 

“What’s the matter, Sammy? Worried your family will embarrass you in front of the other kids?”

“What?” The question shot out of Sam, his expression on the way to apologetic. “No, of course not. I just don’t want people to finally meet my brother and think he grew up in the jungle.”

“Hey!” Dean gave Sam a mock offended look. “What are you talking about, you know I’ve got manners!” 

The full implications of Sam’s words reached Dean with a short delay. “You’ve told them about me?” 

“Of course I’ve told them about you.” Sam was keeping their eye contact a bit too firm. “You’re my brother. People talk about this stuff when you share a house.”

Dean grinned, not being fooled that easily. You couldn’t make Sam tell you his name if he didn’t want to. “What did you tell them? You told them I was awesome?”

“Yeah,” Sam dragged. “I told them you wear a cape and fly at night, saving damsels in distress.”

Dean had started rummaging for some cash; distracted that he couldn’t find it he threw his comeback Sam’s way without looking up. “I’ve saved your damsel ass a time or two.” 

“Yeah, well so have I.”

“Yeah, but you’re my princess, remember?”

Dean’s hands stopped on his jacket, one in the right pocket, the other holding the jacket up by the collar. He swallowed and lifted his eyes to Sam. 

_‘Your princess fantasy got you going, Dean? That what you're gonna think about?’_

That wicked little word ‘my’—making all the difference now just like it had back then, in what sometimes did seem like a galaxy far, far away. In reality it had been the dark porch of an old, abandoned house in North Illinois, where Dean had sat for hours on a chilly April night, his cell in his hands. The screen had been glowing constantly like a huge firefly, messages flying out into the spring air, speaking of wild storms and one beautiful boy.

Across the table Sam was looking at Dean with a stillness that took a second to place. Hunting. This was how Sam got when he was in his hunter’s mode, only now there was nothing menacing about him.

Dean managed to shrug and wriggle his eyebrows with surprising synchrony this time. It gave him hope that he’d get away with it again. It felt as if he had breached some major unspoken agreement between the two of them. They never, ever mentioned their text message exchanges when they spoke, turning them in Dean’s mind to his and Sam’s equivalent of ‘what happens in Vegas…’ Now Dean had gone and spoken about it in Wisconsin. 

Then it hit him. Sam’s reaction. All those questions about what Sam thought of their exchanges, whether he thought much of them at all, whether he was aware of them the way Dean was, in that exact, unequivocal way…The answers were here now in Sam’s reaction. Whatever it was, they were both in the same boat. Trouble was, Dean had no idea where the boat was headed and who was rowing in what direction.

Sam spoke, reverting to the subject of his roommates and giving Dean a start. 

“I’m serious, dude.” He actually sounded quite chilled. “I live with these people. I don’t want to have my brother come for a visit once and—”

Words slipped out again, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. “Yeah,” Dean said. “About that.”

\---

 _Michael’s Frozen Custard_ wasn’t the stage for their conversation after all. They ended up sitting in the Impala, parked within short walking distance. Dean hadn’t planned on having this cocooned setting for their conversation, but he was grateful for it. 

It was half-luck, half-choice. At Dean’s, “About that,” Sam’s eyes had acquired a classic deer-in-the-headlights look, making Dean regret whatever force had finally won over and made him open the conversation. Exactly a beat later the waitress had shown up to see if they needed anything.

“Come on, let’s go outside, it’s noisy in here,” Dean told Sam, asking for the check. 

Once out his feet automatically led him to his baby. Sam had fallen in step next to him, the two walking in silence side by side under the abundant sunlight, discomfort evaporating under its warmth. The hustle and bustle around them seemed to keep a respectful distance that didn’t break the rhythm of their movements. It didn’t affect the narrow gap between their bodies, either, boosting Dean’s weak confidence about the outcome of their conversation.

Sam’s hand was already reaching to touch the car the moment they got to it, fingers gliding over black and silver. Dean had parked in shade but they still rolled the windows half down in synchrony, still no words between them, then gazed straight ahead. Their silence stretched for further seconds, but it wasn’t oppressive. Dean wasn’t sure whether Sammy was just taking a moment to appreciate his reunion with the one thing in the world they could truly call theirs. Well, the Impala had always been Dean’s wheels more than Sam’s, but without Sam in it, it had never felt quite right anyway. Dean loved that car a little too much, but if need be he would have handed over the keys to Sam, no doubt about that. Once or twice when drunk, Dean had thought about his little brother not having even that one thing he could call his touchstone. It made him ache almost as bad as when he thought about Sammy growing up without mom ever since he was tiny; never, ever experiencing that loving, blanket-like woman’s touch Dean carried in himself more like a permanent element in his emotional DNA than a string of detailed memories. 

He cast a sideways glance at Sam to find him still looking ahead with a meditative expression, entirely unselfconscious. Dean himself had started feeling a bit more at peace as soon as he’d settled behind the wheel; pieces of him were sliding against each other and clicking into wholeness, their bonding agent Sam’s absolutely unique presence in the spot right next to him.

He cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” he told Sam.

“You said you came to see me.” Sam turned to look at him as he spoke, expression still riding on the coattails of something almost serene.

Dean licked his lips, his hand immediately going slowly over them. 

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said. “I’m not here to argue with you, or to question your choices, or…you know. I’ve been telling you that I’m okay with it and I mean it, Sam. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t like it.” Dean hurried to clarify, “Being away from you for too long, I mean. I worry about you, dude, and you’re my family, my real family. I’m not saying Christian and Gwen and Matthew aren’t. I’m just saying…” Dean met Sam’s eyes without thinking. The full understanding he found in them made his head seem suddenly lighter than a hot air balloon. 

“What we’ve been through, you and I…” Dean took a breath. “I can’t…You know it counts for something, and they can never get it. Not even Bobby. But I don’t want to make you go back to hunting. It’s not about that.”

“What are you saying, Dean?” Sam’s voice was quiet, making Dean realize that he’d managed to completely tune out the lively chatter of people walking along the opposite, sunny side of the street. Sam’s open gaze was encouraging, but also a little frightening in how many reactions could spring out of it once he heard Dean out.

“I’m saying I’ve been thinking about finding myself a place nearby.” Out, finally. The rest of the words tumbled out in a rush. “You know, like a room or something, where I can crash between hunts. I won’t be there a lot of the time anyway, but maybe when I get back, maybe on my way back I can stop by here, you know?” Dean stammered for a moment. “Not _here_ , here. I mean in the area, like a hundred miles or something, so I can drop by from time to time—”

“Dean!” 

Sam’s voice got through to him, demanding and loud, making Dean abruptly all too aware that Sam had said his name a couple of times already.

“Dude.” Sam seemed bewildered, but mostly super relieved. “Why are you trying to sell me this?”

“Because it’s your life, Sam.” _Because earlier I was freaking out that you wouldn’t even be okay with my being here at all. Because one moment I think hell yeah, you’d want me around, but the next that you’d only like to keep me close like a safety net, until you’ve built your new life and move on._

_Because of that line we’ve been toeing that promises so much trouble, yet sometimes it just _promises…__

__“How the hell would I know if you’d be okay with me crashing your party?” Dean didn’t mean to sound so irritated. “I mean you were trying to get away, and I’m honestly not trying to pull you back, I just—”_ _

__“Dean.” There was no need for Sam to repeat his name this time—something in his tone locked Dean’s lips shut. Something pointed and meaningful, a warning that whatever was going to come out of Sam’s mouth next, Dean had better let it in._ _

__“I was never trying to get away from you,” Sam said. “Don’t know how many times I need to hammer that into your skull, I swear. Not now, not the first time.” He shook his head, face growing lively. “Dude, you call me on my bullshit when I ‘angst’.” Sam put the air-quotes emphatically. “But seriously, you’re spinning some kind of drama right now that’s totally unnecessary.”_ _

__Dean mustered a ‘shut up’ with passable indignation._ _

__Sam huffed. “No, I mean it. Can I at least pick my lines? I’m telling you, whatever went on when I left for Stanford—this is not it. I’ve wanted…” Sam paused, hands rubbing up and down his thighs. His Adam’s apple really stood out for a moment. “This time it was different, okay? I kind of hoped you got that even back when I left in January.” Sam’s mouth curled, pink and maddeningly ironic. “Guess you were just too busy following our new family everywhere, like a puppy.”_ _

__“No, I wasn’t!” Dean’s voice came out a bit too high-pitched to serve as a decent metaphorical middle finger. “So what?” he pressed. “You’re okay with me sticking around? Visiting from time to time?”_ _

__“Dean, do you even have to ask?” Sam’s gaze jumped between a few random points up and around Dean’s face, chest growing as it filled up with air. “I mean, you could…” His gaze returned to Dean, taking a dizzying hundred and eighty degree’s turn to unsure. “You could actually find a place here, you know? In Madison. So we could…” Sam searched for words, trying for casual a little too hard. “Hang out or something.”_ _

__“Or something?” Dean repeated, unable to resist taking advantage of the opportunity to dish out some awkwardness. Sam had one over on him in that department way more times than Dean appreciated._ _

__“Yeah,” Sam insisted, left leg jerking, aiming for a knee bump. They were both sitting with their legs splayed open so the bump was solid. It was followed by a jolt running through Dean, as if Sam had transferred an invisible impulse into Dean’s body. As well as his relief._ _

__“If you get into trouble,” Sam continued, eyes flashing at him, half-lidded with his smirk, “at least it’d be quicker and cheaper for me to come save your ass.”_ _

__“Shut up. You’re probably hurting yourself just carrying heavy books around these days.”_ _

__Sam’s laugh reluctantly admitted _touché._ _ _

__“Yeah,” Dean went on, eyebrows wriggling. “I bet your ass is so out of practice, I’d kick it with one arm tied to my body.”_ _

__Sam shook his head, still grinning. “I guess we’ll just have to find a spot and spar, then; see who’s going to get his ass kicked.”_ _

__Sparring with Sam. Ducking to avoid him, air whooshing by Dean’s face, filling his lungs with Sam’s scent. Hits and misses, some bruising, legs locking around hips, body flips. Hard flesh and bone, rushing blood. Exhilaration and Sam’s hair, damp and brushing Dean’s face and neck—physical like a year’s worth of push-ups, tender like a pleasantly sore muscle._ _

__Dean released his bottom lip from under his teeth. “All right.” He tried not to exhale too noisily. The fingers of both his hands tapped against the wheel. “Which way am I driving to your place?”_ _


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_June 2008, Madison, WI_

_Dean_

 

It made sense that Sam would choose to live in a place that didn’t stand out in any way, and not because he wanted to fly under the radar. He didn’t want to fly, period; at least not in the twilight zone that hunted and hunters inhabited. The street, the three-storey house… In the last couple of years alone Dean had walked past countless places like that, sometimes going into them to interview people, or even snooping around quietly when no one was home, most of the time Sam right there with him. So Dean was pretty sure Sam would know what Dean meant if he told him this whole set-up was as nondescript as it got. 

He wondered whether Sam had purposefully gone for that or he’d just fallen naturally for this blueprint of student life normalcy. Even the bicycles across the front porch seemed hard to remember as soon as you looked away from them: none of them too sparkly and new or too rusty and mended; none of them with even a stripe of unusual color to give it character. Sam’s Buick fit with these bikes like the proverbial pea in a pod. 

The kid even paid for parking. Dean made sure he informed him how lame that was but the truth was that he was unsettled. His comment was probably more of an attempt to remind Sam of their shared past, of a different life outside the norm—their life, only six months ago. Dean’s life right now. Before he took off Dean had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t challenge Sam’s life choices, but it looked like falling on his good intentions alone wasn’t going to be enough. Apparently words slipped out of his mouth left, right and center right now, and while he was sure he got away with his teasing comment about the parking, he still had to watch it. 

They walked around inside the house, Sam giving him a quick tour of the common areas. Dean tried to take in his surroundings, but it was like trying to remember the details of a dream. The house boasted some pretty standard features. Funny word, ‘boasted’, especially here: generic furniture, some of it new, some of it a little shabby. Generic smells of food, coffee, detergents, humans. Generic wooden flooring that had seen much better days. Dean caught himself having a vague visual fantasy about how good the floors could look with some love and the right kind of varnish. The windows, too, and some of the pieces of furniture; some of them would have to go, though, like the pathetic excuse of chairs at the dining table, especially the matching pair of them—

“It’s not too bad, I guess.” Sam interrupted his thoughts, the words quiet as he addressed Dean over his shoulder. They’d just begun on the stairs, Sam leading the way up to his room. Dean returned his attention to him and saw an expression that meant in this case Sam really was trying to guess. 

“It’s good,” Dean told him quickly, so eager to reassure that he accepted the words as true the moment he spoke them. He plastered a patronizing look on his face. “Lovely place, grandma. Bet those student kids next door make a lot of noise though.” 

Sam’s answering small laugh made Dean’s lips quirk into a smile behind his back.

Sam’s room was as much his as that of a stranger. 

Made sense, Dean thought, considering he’d never seen what an actual room of Sam’s would really look like. 

His gaze took in the relatively tidy space. The first thing that drew your eye was the big bed—like a centerpiece worthy of its name, it dominated the room and suggested to anyone who walked in that its occupant had to be a big guy. (It did things to Dean to think of Sam as a big guy. It somehow really played off his default setting to curl protectively around Sam and snarl at the universe at large.) Dean was struck by another explanation for the bed’s size, a much more plausible one at that. This was a bed for two people. Maybe a couple had shared here before? A bed that big must have been bought on purpose, but Dean very much doubted that Sam had gone out and bought it for himself. 

Then again what did he know? It was true: all their lives they’d stopped somewhere only for a while and there was never a time when Sam had had his own room. He’d had his own space on one or two occasions, but never a room to furnish, and decorate, and mould to his own person. Not until Stanford anyway, but that was a chapter that didn’t feature Dean.

Their family had fallen on really hard times over the years, despite their father’s best efforts. A hunt gone on for too long, a hospital visit that drained whatever funds they had. A trail that in hindsight Dean saw must have been Yellow Eyes, judging by how obsessively their dad had followed it across the country with things like getting cash and even having proper meals temporarily forgotten. So they had ended up in kind people’s homes or even squatting once in a while, which was when Sam had claimed his own space—usually the closest to the room where Dean had dumped his own duffel bag. 

Dad was never keen on having them linger for too long at his friends’ houses. He talked about not wanting to take advantage of their hospitality, but Dean now wondered if their father had been worried that he’d soon start butting heads with their hosts like he did with everyone at one point. At the time Dean didn’t question it, much like it never occurred to him to question why the sky turned light every morning. The only thing that made him stop and take notice, and realize there was another way, was Sam. 

“Why can’t we stay at Pastor Jim’s?” Sam would ask, never too whiny so Dean could just ignore him or retort with a taunt. Contained, that was Sammy, at least until he grew up a bit and then he was also a thunderstorm waiting to happen - cut down all power, block all the roads. But before he turned sixteen, Sam was contained. And just pitiful enough to make Dean snap at him from time to time, “Because dad said so!” Lashing out irrationally—he knew it even then, but he had to retaliate when faced with his little brother who reached right inside and plucked at all of Dean’s damn heartstrings as if they were Sam’s not Dean’s to pluck.

“You got a big room,” Dean told Sam in the present, averting his eyes from the bed that might or might not have been there to have two people sleep in it. 

Sam looked around as if he was just seeing it himself. “Yeah, it is,” he conceded. “Biggest in the house actually.”

Dean walked to the desk with Sam’s laptop perched on it like a beacon of familiarity. “Sounds about right,” he murmured, scanning over pages with scattered notes in Sam’s writing, another thing that made the room Sam’s. “Where else would they fit Bigfoot?” He swung around and gave Sam a big, exaggerated smile.

Sam’s eyes fixed on him, shining, before he rolled them. “I think it looks bigger than it is,” he said in a beat. “I’ve been trying to…I don’t want to clutter it. Not that I had much stuff anyway, and I haven’t exactly been rolling in cash to be buying things. But it’s scary how quickly you start accumulating crap…” His voice trailed off, making Dean look back at him from the window where he’d been examining the—yep, still generic—view outside. 

“Place looks kinda tame, Sammy,” he told him. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“Right,” Sam said, the eye-roll in his voice this time.

“No, I mean it. Downstairs, up here—this house needs some sex, drugs and rock’n’roll, dude. Okay, maybe we can have some booze instead of drugs, but the other two are staying.”

Sam’s expression was strange in a muted way, but Dean still willed the blood not to climb up his face. It was so weird to be in Sam’s company, now that he knew what they’d said to each other…or maybe what they’d left unspoken. Half the time everything was as it had always been between them, their patterns of conversation, walking, existing together so deeply ingrained in Dean’s psyche that there was no control over his words and actions. But the new thing was there, too, together with a hefty dose of ambiguous ‘souvenirs’ from their texting exchanges—all of it turning the old patterns into a vast country, littered with hidden land mines. Such as suggesting to Sam his room should see some action as soon as possible.

_‘I guess being stuck inside like this, feeling cut off from the world like this, it's a good time for telling secrets. You know, things that are too silly or too wild for daylight, stuff you never really meant to tell anyone. That's what I'd do. Start asking questions. Sharing dreams.’_

_‘It’s nice. I mean secrets in the dark with a beautiful boy? Killer combo’_

_‘Yeah? What secrets would you start telling?’_

_‘Nah, it's too far from here, not working, dude. Catch me in a dark room with a storm outside and we'll talk’_

It was a sunny day outside with a spotless blue sky, yet Dean still felt the weight of Sam’s gaze as if lightning flashed outside the windows. He couldn’t _believe_ he was here. He wondered where Sam had sat while texting him that night, _‘alone in the world, no worries about demons or ghosts or even finals or work,’_ the storm tuning out everything else but Dean. Here. Here is where Sam had been, inhabiting this very material reality, maybe on the bed, or maybe he’d moved to the bed later, stretched out on it comfortably to work himself up to his orgasm, Dean talking him into the mood first, the lines blurring in his head just as Sam’s hand must have blurred as it sped up—

Dean twitched and turned his back on his brother, mindlessly peering out of the window again. His heart was thumping so loudly he was afraid his temples looked like loudspeakers upped to the max.

Behind him Sam’s jeans made swishy noises as he moved into the room. He spoke, intonation pretty neutral. “Hey, do you want to see where I’ve put the banishing symbols?”

\---

Dean stayed in Sam’s room for close to an hour, the two of them bantering and occasionally slipping into more serious talk, such as how Sam was worried that his roommates might accidentally find his hunting gear. It was a pitiful collection, consisting of one silver knife, a small shotgun loaded with rock salt, a couple of fake IDs and a few amulets and charms. Dean understood why Sam chose to have only those at hand. He could even see, reluctantly, how the presence of any of these items in Sam’s room could seriously jeopardize his relationship with his housemates and his landlord. Well, possibly some of the amulets could pass for fashion accessories…

Not that Sam was the type. He was wearing what he’d always worn, his wardrobe limited to a couple of pairs of jeans, some t-shirts and shirts, and his ubiquitous hoodies—including the newish, super warm dark gray one that Dean had misappropriated a time or two. (He remembered wearing it when he’d sneaked out of the hospital the time he got electrocuted and he knew he had a number of days to live. He was going to be damned if he stayed there to spend whatever time he had left with some strangers.) Some of Sam’s shirts were the only thing that could possibly make the amulet’s case as a fashion accessory, although some of them were also a permanent cause of mild embarrassment for Dean. The dude had a light pink shirt with dark pink flowers on it, for God’s sakes. True, it made him look like a pretty princess, so Dean could find it in him to make peace with the shirt being worn in the privacy of his company alone, but Sam had no shame and insisted on going out in it in public.

Dean coaxed Sam into committing to introduce him to the lesbian couple under the pretext that he’d spoken to one of them on the phone already so it would have been rude to show his face and never say hello. He got an invitation for dinner as well—apparently his little brother had embraced his inner Martha Stewart and was taking part in cooking communal meals on some day or other. 

“Just bring some beers,” Sam said. “Or a bottle of wine.”

“Oh, wine, I see…College boy is getting fancy.” Dean had plenty more where that one came from, but decided to give Sam a break today. Sam hadn’t stopped looking at him with wide, glinting eyes, his expression just plain glowing, even if Dean tried hard not to read it that way. Dean had taken the chair at Sam’s desk while Sammy took the bed. The room was big but so was the bed, and in their current positions their knees were almost brushing. At first Sam had treated the bed like a seat in a church pew, his back insanely straight, but halfway through the conversation he’d already begun leaning back on his right elbow, long thighs splayed open a little. 

Dean was swimming in a cloud; a freaking all-encompassing, fluffy cloud where time and space and the meaning of words barely existed. Alongside the bone-deep, profound sense of comfort he always felt around Sam there was the added awareness of _being_ around Sam: a rhythmic, pleasurable thump on the side of his throat that started from his heart and sent ripples downward, too, all the way to his groin. Sam fed the thumping regularly with a flash of his white, square teeth, with a soft lilt to his voice, with his clinging onto Dean’s every word for a beautiful moment or two. 

They were interrupted by the sound of the front door downstairs. Sam straightened up and swivelled to look at his room’s semi-open door. 

“It’s probably Felicity,” he said, listening for several seconds. Whoever it was, they went to the first floor and things got quiet. “Yeah, Felicity,” Sam murmured.

“Is she cool?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know her that well, her degree keeps her super busy.” Dean looked at Sam questioningly; it didn’t really matter what the girl was studying, but his natural curiosity prevailed.

“Library science,” Sam told him. Dean couldn’t see what kind of science could possibly evolve around books. They were books. You arranged them in some order and kept them clean, and possibly checked out their origin if they were special or something. He thought you could learn how to do that in two months tops. (He also doubted Bobby would have passed even that basic course in Library “science”. But there was method in Bobby’s madness as far as his books were concerned.) 

Dean opted for a smirk in response. “Your kind of librarian or my kind of librarian?” 

Sam’s own response was a quick flash of a smile. Dean had expected the body language equivalent of ‘grow up’, so a smile was good. The arrival of the third party, albeit invisible, had shaken Dean off his cloud, but what followed wasn’t skydiving. It was more like a gentle descent, Sam still close and the awareness that he wanted Dean to stick around settled in Dean’s stomach nicer than three slices of hot apple pie.

But the boy had his own life to live and Dean had to watch himself. It had been so easy so far, Sam not fighting him on his decision, Sam suggesting that Dean come to live in Madison, Sam happy to see him… None of them touching with a ten-foot pole the subject of their texting and the silence after the last exchange. It could have gone to Dean’s head if he let it, the seamlessness of it all. It was wise to stick to his ground rules before he’d set out. The main one being to keep a healthy distance and not interfere too much in Sam’s life. The prospect of spending time with Sam was practically heaven at this point so Dean wasn’t going to be greedy for more. 

“All right, I better go check on the car,” he said, getting up. Sam didn’t move, just straightened up his back and looked up at him, eyes growing bigger with the gesture. Dean only had to take a step closer and he could settle between Sam’s knees. He could reach out and bury his fingers in Sam’s hair, then press the side of Sam’s face against his stomach, Sam’s arms circling his lower back… Abruptly, it seemed absurd and so _unfair_ that he was finally close to Sam and still hadn’t touched him. They were brothers. Why couldn’t they touch all the time, hug and press against each other? 

_Because you_ are _brothers but that means something different now,_ a voice responded in his head. Dean tried to smile, brain searching for something to say. He took a step back as innocuously as he could.

“You want to meet up tonight maybe?” he asked. 

Good call. _That_ ought to help with keeping that healthy distance.

“Sure.” Sam got up, too, a few lines of concern visible between his parted bangs. He was now keeping his longer hair mostly pushed back from his face and once or twice had tucked strands behind his ears. It made him look less like a boy and more like a man. The more his forehead showed, the more exotic his eyes turned. It was like a fucking magic trick—Dean had come to that conclusion years ago when he watched Sam come out of the bathroom with his damp hair slicked away from his face.

“Dean, where are you going to stay tonight?” Sam asked, helping Dean identify the lines of concern as being of the ‘mother hen’ variety.

“I’m staying in a place just outside town. Not too shabby actually.”

Sam’s hands dived into his jeans pockets. “Oh, okay.” He paused, eyes darting to the window before returning to Dean. “Because if you had too much to drink tonight you could come crash here, you know.” 

Dean might have spent the last few hours in an honest to God pink haze, but he was still sharper than most people would be when fully alert. There was no missing the tension in Sam’s offer, but it was the kind of tension that resonated with Dean’s so that was something. There were two of them and there was a bed for two. Dean didn’t give a fuck if his logic was screaming at him that he was overlooking the third party that was going to need a lot of space on that bed as well—the elephant in the room.

“Yeah, okay.” He found himself saying. “We’ll see how it goes.”

They took the steps back down, Dean leading this time, and paused on the landing when a thin girl with the biggest earrings Dean had ever seen stuck her head out from her door. Her naturally big eyes turned wider when she saw Dean, face showing she was really hoping for someone familiar to come into view and explain the stranger in her home. 

“Sam!” The girl relaxed visibly when she spotted Sammy. “You scared the crap out of me. What are you doing home right now?”

Sam glanced down at his watch, shrugging. “I took the day off. Felicity, this is Dean.”

Felicity’s eyes danced over Dean appraisingly. Obviously now that she knew Dean was safe she didn’t bother hiding the amused quirk of her lips or the way her eyebrows crept up towards her bangs. Dean didn’t mind scoring points with all of Sam’s female housemates, lesbian or straight, if only for some twisted logic that told him it’d make it harder for Sam to forget Dean was a handsome devil.

He was just giving Felicity a small smile when behind him Sam added, “My brother Dean.” 

It hung in the air, somehow incongruous. Dean missed Felicity’s reaction, his head turning to Sam on its own volition. The tension Dean had felt instantly at Sam’s necessity to clarify their relations—after too long a pause, too—went up a notch at the sight of his brother’s face. For anyone else it might have looked all right, but Dean knew that boy like the back of his hand. This was the face little Sammy had had when he’d wet the bed and then tried to take off his pajamas and underwear and throw them away. Which meant stashing them behind some bushes at the back of the motel they were staying in. It had probably seemed like another town to an almost-four-year-old. Dean had spotted the scratches on his arms the bush had left and the whole thing unraveled pretty quickly, ending with tears on his little brother’s part and with Dean wiping them.

“He’s going to crash here tonight,” Dean’s six foot four little brother said in the present, eyes still not meeting Dean’s despite talking about him. “I’ll let everyone know.” 

Felicity shook Dean’s hand and then they were on their way out again, Sam walking ahead of Dean this time, his back and neck screaming at Dean not to interact with him. Dean sped up, mind a little blank.

They both loosened up when they got to the Impala. Dean walked over to the driver’s side door and Sam to the passenger’s and they leaned towards each other across the top of the car like they had a hundred thousand times before. Sam gave Dean directions how to get to his workplace, the Great Dane, and they chatted for a moment longer, Sam promising to spot Dean as many games of pool as he wanted. “But only one drink, I mean it.” He smiled when he said that and Dean could finally relax fully again.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he shot back, trying not to make his grin too wicked. “Hey, show me where you park,” he added. He might have been embarrassed by Sammy’s choice of car, but it still didn’t mean he wasn’t considering the Buick as something of his own, too.

Sam took him to the parking spaces out back and there the LeSabre was, good as new. 

“See, still good as new.” Sam echoed Dean’s impressions word for word. “I haven't wrecked her yet, I’ve been taking good care of her." 

It wasn’t a grand statement and Sam had delivered it with a voice that didn’t exactly reek of tender feelings, yet Dean still felt wonderful warmth wash over him that had nothing to do with the sun’s heat on his skin.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_The night of Dean’s arrival, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

Thursdays at the Great Dane had turned out to be Sam’s favorites.

There were a few smallish groups of regulars who came in on Thursday nights — one for pool, another for darts, another for drinks and laughs — and the night manager had good taste in music so when customers weren’t plugging the jukebox Sam was sure to hear something that didn’t suck. It was an all-around chill night and he was glad to find himself always on the schedule. He liked that touchstone of stability in his life right now: he was the regular bartender on his favorite day of the week at the best brewpub in town.

This particular Thursday Sam was ready to put it in writing and scratch out “at the Great Dane” because this had pretty much become his favorite day…ever. He arrived to work early feeling nervy and excited, slipping into his regular work routine with a physical sense of relief.

He’d been there almost an hour and had wiped down every surface in sight at least twice before the sound of the door opening, the same sound he’d already heard two dozen times since he arrived, caught his ear like a familiar snatch of song heard through the open window at 85 miles per hour. He froze for the space of half a breath, finished polishing the wine glass he was holding, hung it in its rack above the bar, and looked up. 

When they were kids, Sam had once convinced Dean to play along with him in a science experiment after school. They were staked out in a motel that had been built in the ‘50s and redecorated in the ‘70s and the shag carpet would have swallowed a small Yorkie, Sam was pretty sure. So he and Dean took off their shoes and shuffled around in their gym socks, building up static electricity until they came face to face and Sam said _Go_. They reached out their hands and touched their fingers together. Just the memory of the resulting shock was enough to send a tingle shooting up Sam’s spine.

That cute little shock had nothing on the way it felt to meet his brother’s eyes now, just his eyes, from twenty feet away, across a dim and murky room. He felt like that kid from Jurasic Park, clinging to the high-voltage fence while a voice yelled at him just to let go, to _jump_.

So Sam smiled, lifted a hand, turned like there was something really important he had to do at the register, then floated down to the end of the bar to see if Roger needed a refill. (He did — he always did. No job was without its suck factor, but taking money from alcoholics felt somehow worse than lots of the other crap Sam had pulled in the line of duty.)

By the time he turned around again, Dean had found a seat at the other end, which was definitely where Sam’s feet were headed anyway. 

All his life, Sam had watched people fall in love with Dean like it was their job. Sam had never been too clear on his own job description, never really known just what all _Being my pain in the ass little brother_ entailed, but it had always fallen to him to watch Dean, and that meant watching people turn their heads, change their plans, raise or lower their inhibitions, all because of Dean. And, until now, it had always been with Sam right by his side. Or, you know, watching from an out-of-the-way booth in a back corner where he wouldn’t cramp Dean’s style.

“What’s so funny?” Dean grumbled, dragging a hand over his mouth self-consciously.

“Nothing.” Sam braced his hands against the bar, rolling his shoulders to stretch out his back, letting a broad smile work its way across his face. “I’ve just never seen you from this angle before.”

Dean cocked his head, and as sure as Sam could feel the shift when his own work persona took over, like witnessing from within the way the curtains were drawn and the appropriate mask pulled on, he could see the exact moment his brother slipped into his role, turned on the charm. Didn’t matter that Dean was only doing it to wind him up, was putting on an act, it was still goddamn fascinating (not infuriating, definitely not, because Sam said so), and it made his own smile morph into a grin, turn wolfish.

“Yeah?” Dean asked, elbows on the bar, leaning in, doing that eyebrow thing Sam could never figure out. “Like what you see?”

And Sam laughed, like he’d seen a million bartenders and waitresses before him laugh. Falling under a spell and liking it. He pulled up a glass and rolled it on its base on the bar in front of Dean. “What’ll it be, cowboy?”

Dean asked for a beer, and Sam pulled him the brightest, hoppiest IPA they had on tap, just to be a jerk. He stood there while Dean sipped it — while Dean almost choked on it, while Dean glared at him — then brought him another, a nice inoffensive pilsner, and a bowl of peanuts. Two drinks on the house, breaking his own rule before Dean had been there five minutes. 

Kate, Carter and Jaime showed up an hour later without Kate’s girlfriend. The guys got immediately drawn into a shuffleboard game leaving Kate to linger at the bar until Sam could tear himself away from Roger to get her a Long Island.

“No Jasmine?” Sam asked, mixing her drink.

Kate blew out a short breath and shook her head. “Carter and Jaime and I kind of want to go dancing later and you know how she is.”

Sam nodded. If the night held even the slightest possibility of getting a little bit rowdy — as Sam had recent and personal experience to know that it definitely did on a Thursday at the Cardinal — Jasmine was out.

“She wouldn’t even come out for a drink to meet your—Oh!” Kate brightened immediately, leaning in to speak close to his ear as a group of students broke into noisy laughter behind them. “So, your brother? Is he here?”

Sam ducked his head, then straightened to tuck his hair behind his ear and nod down the bar to where Dean was engaged in conversation with one of the regulars.

Kate followed his look and straightened on her stool, giving a low whistle. “Damn. Okay, I forgive Felicity.”

“For what?” Sam asked.

Kate looked back at him, eyes dancing. “For freaking out a little. Oh, yeah, she didn’t exactly believe you that he’s your brother, just heads up. What? After how cute you were that night with Carter’s hot friend what’s-his-name, now your brother shows up looking like that, can you blame her for thinking you have a type? Damn, he’s hot, right? I mean, objectively.” She grinned. “As a lesbian to his brother, I can say that, right?”

Sam gaped at her, then forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to deflect. “Please, if you care about me at all, don’t let him hear you say any of that. He’s already convinced he’s God’s gift to the world. Hearing it from queer chick?” Sam shook his head. “His head would be too big to fit through the door.”

“Oh, speaking of that.” Kate still hadn’t taken her eyes from Dean, which was downright worrying. “Is he really going to stay with us? Where are you going to put him?”

Sam shrugged, reaching for a bar rag. “It’s just for a little bit. Jen and Jayflower or Jaybird or whoever, who had my room before me, they left that giant mattress in my room. Me and Dean shared all the time when we were growing up, it won’t be a big deal.”

“Yeah.” Kate flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Except for how you’re both ginormous now.” She finally turned back to look at him and grinned. “And that’s _really_ not going to convince Felicity of anything.”

Real customers were starting to trickle in, and by the time Sam found the nerve to look up at Kate again, she was already moving in Dean’s direction. In no time the two of them were sitting at one of the high round tables just past the bar, their heads together, body language broadcasting their mutual enjoyment of whatever the hell they’d found to talk about. Kate wasn’t one to gossip, and she knew much better than Felicity how that thing with Carter’s friend had been blown way out of proportion, so Sam told himself he wasn’t worried about it. He still had to swallow down the irrational urge to jump over the bar and shove his way in between them. 

Then again she and Dean had met, so to speak, over the phone that night Sam got so wasted he couldn’t get himself home, so maybe the rules of discretion applied differently when you bonded over your only mutual friend’s inability to hold his liquor. Sam wasn’t well versed in these things and could only wait and thank God he’d had a test that morning that had been important enough to keep him in last night. Thank _God_ Dean hadn’t shown up _last_ Thursday when Sam had run out of the house in the previous night’s rumpled clothes, late for class and with no time to shower, let alone deal with the mess in his trash can, and come back in the afternoon to find his room reeking of tequila and vomit. 

Thankfully, only a little while later Sam was able to slip away and join Dean for a minute after he saw Kate head outside with her cell pressed to her ear. And when he did, Dean’s loose joints and easy smile, the way he turned and let his hand rest over Sam’s heart for just a second, relieved the tension in Sam’s chest and he went back to pouring drinks with a smile. 

The bar got a little busy as the evening progressed, the awesome weather calling people out onto the streets and then, as it cooled off, drawing them into the Dane’s welcoming dining room. Sam kept up with the flow, welcoming regular faces and newcomers alike, listening, asking, bantering—nothing out of the ordinary except for the regular draw on his senses, the pull to look up and meet Dean’s eyes for no obvious reason. 

It was weird, seriously. Like, if they’d been on a hunt? The fact that Sam never had to think twice about where Dean was and that every time he looked up Dean was right where he expected him to be, eyes lifted to his, never making him wait or wonder or search? That shit would have sailed right past his radar because that’s what they _did_ , for god’s sake. But he was at work, now. A different kind of work in a kind of pretentious brewpub in a city that was weird as hell but that, as far as he’d seen these last six months, wasn’t particularly prone to anything supernatural. But there Dean was, in the flesh, looking so good in just worn-out jeans and a light jacket that Sam almost wanted to cry from the sight of him. 

Not to mention that Dean was looking back _at him_ and Sam was starting to think that, just maybe, everything he’d read into their long silence these last few weeks was all in his own head.

_‘Screw my moves, I just wanna make you feel good, that’s all.’_

It was warm in the bar with all the bodies packed in close and Sam was gulping down water like it was air, like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Hot night like tonight, maybe it was. Maybe it was just Dean’s eyes on him — Dean being so close so suddenly after so long — that made him feel like a fish out of water, like everything was louder and brighter than usual. He had his phone in his pocket as always, and he kept brushing his fingers against it like it was something sacred, the way he had for those few months when barely a night went by he didn’t get at least _something_ from Dean; even when it didn’t escalate into the kind of earth-shaking revelation that left him sweating and scrabbling for purchase against a swiftly-tilting planet.

\---

It was nearing midnight when Sam looked up to grin at Dean for what must have been the fiftieth time that night and found his view obscured by the four guys who’d just floated up to the bar, edging their way into the periphery of his attention with an aura of entitlement he’d come to recognize; it clung like second skin to every professional barfly he’d encountered. Sam flipped a few coasters in front of the newcomers. “Hey, guys. What can I get started for you?”

He recognized one of them, a regular who usually came in with a group of grad students. He was leaning on the bar with one finger pinning down his coaster, claiming Sam’s attention without looking at him. All his focus was on the guy he’d come in with, the exotic-looking one with the gauged ears and dyed-dark hair, so Sam looked too, taking in the ink that crawled over half of his skin and the outfit chosen to artfully expose more than was strictly necessary, in Sam’s opinion. 

Lips twitching, Sam looked up to draw Dean’s attention to the guy, and found all eyes already on him. Jaime was clinging to Kate’s elbow and babbling something in her ear, looking flushed. Dean didn’t notice Sam trying to catch his eye, his own shifting back and forth between Jaime and the guy.

“And this is Sam,” the regular was saying, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, casually possessive. Sam instantly began sifting through his memory, trying to come up with a name for the jerk, who still wasn’t finished with his spiel. “And Sam makes the best damn martini in the place.”

The stranger shifted a pair of bright eyes to meet Sam’s, his pixieish face so mobile that Sam wasn’t sure what to call the expression that was suddenly turned on him as the guy ordered for his friends, pulling a card out of his wallet and laying it on the bar. Sam glanced down at it to catch his name — Jake Base.

“Keep it open?” Sam asked.

Jake nodded. The other three went back to talking among themselves but Jake stayed a little aloof, eyes drifting around the room while Sam shook the martinis. The second time Sam saw him look over at Dean, Dean looked up. 

Sam plucked down a martini glass and set it in front of Jake, though he wasn’t ready to pour. “First time in this place?”

Jake’s eyes were slow to focus on him, but when they did, it felt like being put under a microscope. Sam offered his best bartender’s smile and reached for the olives. Jake nodded, and rested one elbow on the bar. “First time in this town.”

“What brings you?”

“Just passing through, heading west.” Jake nodded to his right, where the grad student Sam had recognized was still holding court. “Stopped to say hi to Drew, he’s an old friend.”

 _Drew_ , Sam thought, filing the name away. He didn’t like customers being one-up on him, though as everyone always said he kind of stood out behind the bar — while how many hundreds of people did he see on an average day? Didn’t matter; he’d learn the name of everyone in the city if he had to. 

He finished Jake’s martini and set it in front of him.

“Anything else right away, Jake?”

Jake’s slow smile was dazzling and for a moment everything Sam had already tagged him with — douchebag, entitled, drama queen — fell away and he was just…beautiful. 

“That’ll be all, for now, Sam.”

\---

_Dean_

 

Sam’s bar turned out to be a pretty cool place. A bit high end for Dean’s liking, but wood and brass were wood and brass—they had an inherent ability to make Dean’s spine lose rigidity. Or turn it softer than butter if he was already relaxed. He wasn’t tonight. There was too much going on and Dean was not ashamed to own up to the fact that having his emotions peaked was not without its challenges for him. All roads led to Sam, of course, including this literal road to The Dane, the joint where Sam was earning points in Dean’s good books by working as a real goddamn bartender. 

Dean didn’t expect the place to be so laid back. His imagination had conjured up a rowdier, rougher environment every time he’d thought about it, which was very likely the manifestation of his fear about all the dangers hiding in the shadows of this world and waiting to befall his little brother, especially when Dean wasn’t around. But after only an hour Dean had to admit the biggest threat to Sam’s well-being was someone getting their drink from him without a smile and a ‘thank you’.

Sam was a natural behind the bar, just as Dean had expected. It wasn’t a very busy night but it was easy to imagine Sam moving around quickly and carefully on evenings when they were slammed, memorizing orders half a page long and mixing drinks with efficiency and accuracy. Dean couldn’t quite picture Sam as one of those super skilled dudes, though—the type who turned making cocktails into a performance. Showing off wasn’t his brother’s style and Sam applied himself with passion only to things that were very important to him. It was obvious that for him being a bartender was a job, not a calling. 

Still, Sammy was Sammy—he never half-assed anything once he committed to it. Dean had a few beers and some food and talked to a few of Sam’s friends, all the while watching his brother work. Sam listened to the patrons giving their orders as if they were telling him the story of their life—Dean wondered whether that hadn’t happened a time or two—then their drinks materialized with impressive speed and unfailing politeness. Sam cleaned up after himself, restocked up promptly, kept a discreet eye out for any potential trouble…

He also met Dean’s gaze time and time again, occasionally smiling, often just touching base, but every single time causing sparks to fly up and down Dean’s spine.

“You can actually talk to him,” Kate told Dean at some point, “as long as he’s not busy serving people.” Luckily, she’d misinterpreted Dean’s covetous gazes from afar as respect for Sam’s boundaries.

“Nah, I’ll talk to the kid later, I’d rather have some grown-up fun now.” Dean made sure he didn’t leer in Kate’s direction when he said that. 

He was still grateful to her for her part in getting Sam home the night when Sam got trashed. The feeling of helplessness Dean had experienced back then was hard to forget. Hundreds of miles away from his little brother who was drunk and vulnerable in a new town, throwing up in some dark back alley, and only a stranger’s voice over the phone line connecting him to Dean. Kate. 

Kate had done Dean a solid that night and it didn’t matter that she had taken care not of Dean’s needs but of Sam’s. Same difference. Her poll numbers kept going up the more time Dean spent with her. Her open face and frank demeanor reminded him of Ellen somehow, even though Ellen was older, far more intimidating and weathered. Ellen was the owner of a bar that was a favorite stopover for a lot of scary hunters. Kate was just a twenty-something chick with a raunchy sense of humor and inky black hair she kept putting up in a messy ponytail, then undoing fifteen minutes later. Both Ellen and Katie gave out the vibe of someone strong and unyielding in the face of any crap life threw their way. Their femininity was kind of hard to place yet also unavoidable.

Kate was there with a guy who seemed like he was a close friend. His name was Carter and he was also gay, just like the other dude with him, Jaime: short and kind of perky, if a little shy. He’d goggled at Dean when they were introduced and Dean had tried not to do anything awkward. He didn’t think he was homophobic, but it would have been a lie if he said he felt totally at ease with the whole gay thing. Truth was, he’d never spent long enough in the company of gay guys so he didn’t know what he should be feeling—shame, or understanding, or what?—when he caught himself thinking that both Carter and Jaime seemed fine and kind of…normal. 

Behind the bar Sam laughed, drawing Dean’s eyes to him like a magnet just in time to see him throw his head back. Greed and mindless longing hit Dean like a collision with the head of a comet, then the awareness of what those feelings meant whipped him and went on to drag the tail of that comet through a violent mini-cosmos. The human psyche was a fucking ludicrous thing, letting people navigate around such enormous mountains without noticing them. Here Dean was, crazy about his brother in more ways than he had fingers to count, but he was relaxing because Carter and Jamie seemed ‘fine and normal’. 

Jaime had turned twenty-one a week ago and had the buzzing countenance that went along with the novelty of being allowed to publicly bankrupt yourself on alcohol if you wished to do so. Thinking of himself at twenty-one made something bitter-sweet swim through Dean. He had to be getting older if instead of mentally fist-pumping the air for not having many restrictions placed on him when it came to the good stuff in life, he was beginning to see the other side of the coin. He’d never celebrated being able to drink; he could barely remember a time when he wasn’t allowed a taste of Dad’s beer at the bar. Dean had experienced some personal milestones such as Dad letting him behind the Impala’s wheel for the first time, but the fantasy of driving hadn’t lasted that long—before he knew it, it’d achieved its full-blown status and Dean was actually driving. He suspected that the time spent wanting and anticipating something was probably important for how awesome it felt when you finally had the chance to experience it.

Dean gulped down a quarter of his beer, vaguely wondering whether gay people gravitated to each other, because a lot of straight people could be assholes to them without realizing. His next thought popped up in his head, pretty random, or maybe not so much. It concerned the possibility of Ellen having a lesbian affair or two in her younger days, which then promptly made Dean pull a face—it was like thinking about your aunt having sex. 

“Hey.”

Funny how thinking that your brother’s voice was sex itself was not gross one bit.

“Hey,” Dean said, turning around to face Sam. Carter and Jaime had gone over to another table to say hi to some friends. A moment later Kate had apologized and gone outside to talk on her cell to her girlfriend Jasmine, who was probably super hot—no one told Dean these things, so he had to guess—and Dean had been standing alone at their high table leaning on his elbows. Sam must have snuck up behind him and was standing close now; so close, in fact, that with his right hand propped against the table’s edge he was bracketing Dean on one side, and in turning to face him, Dean did something that closely resembled turning into someone’s arms. 

“You doing good?” Sam asked, pulling back a little.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be? Beer’s great, I’m talking to an actual real life lesbian—”

“Dean,” Sam uttered, pained.

“—seriously, she’s awesome,” Dean went on over him, feeling the buzz from all the beers pleasantly dance the words over his tongue. “I got my baby brother right here.” He smacked his palms lightly against Sam’s chest. “I’m good, Sammy.”

Sam seemed to be looking at him a whole lot without blinking. His face was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree—so nothing new, then. 

“Will I be asking Kate to take you home in a taxi before long?” Sam asked.

Dean made a dismissive sound which, in tandem with his eyebrows, hopefully conveyed to Sam that his insult was cheap. “Not getting rid of me that easy,” he added for good measure.

“I’m not trying to.” Sam’s tone was casual but his voice quieter, making Dean’s eyes jump from Sam’s mouth to his eyes.

“Okay,” Kate announced her return by dropping her purse on the table. “Jasmine’s mother had one of her migraines so she won’t be visiting us tomorrow.”

Dean tuned her and Sam out in favor of feeling good, even though somewhere out there in the world nice people’s prospective in-laws were currently suffering with horrible headaches. He hadn’t lied to Sam, he really was good. It didn’t matter what metaphorical celestial bodies tried to hurl Dean through the dark. He was going to get himself up and dust himself off, unapologetic for how he felt—only mindful of how he acted. Or how he didn’t. He would manage somehow; he could keep himself in check, as long as he got to have moments like this. This was happiness, right here, in this cool joint with its awesome beer, great food and good company. Here, where Sam was.

\---

“I think security is overrated,” Kate was telling Dean and Jaime; Carter was still talking to his friend at the other table. It was an hour and a half to last call. “I don’t want to be stuck in a nine to five job,” she continued, shrugging, “so as soon as I—” 

“Oh my God.” Jaime clutched at Kate’s elbow, eyes riveted on a spot on Dean’s left. “That’s Jake Base. Oh my God!” 

The guy Jaime was hyperventilating about was young and dark, and kind of striking. He was leaning at the bar with three more guys, laughing at something one of them was saying.

“Who’s this?” Dean asked.

“Jake Base,” Jaime repeated unhelpfully, not taking his eyes off the dude. “Cocky Boys.”

The name sounded like something that should be vaguely familiar. Dean looked over his shoulder again. This time the guy was just gazing to his left at nothing in particular. His face was a storm of bold features: thick eyebrows, a full mouth, big bright eyes. His hair was black, styled up at the front in a mop that was like a statement on the importance of cool hair. There was plenty of light and the bar was only a few feet away anyway so Dean could see all the ink on the guy’s skin, but despite that it was the person that drew the eye, not the tattoos. 

They were kind of hypnotic, though; colorful and artistic, clearly on display by a t-shirt with a low-hanging neck. The dude was wearing large loops in the fleshy bits on both his ears and Dean just had to wonder what other piercings he had. His hard-to-miss looks were completed by the fancy dark jacket he wore, the sleeves folded up by design, showcasing his white hands and the ink on them, too. 

Yes, totally boldly put together, all of him, yet also with the air of something fragile. Dean’s mildly intoxicated brain produced the comparison on a guttural level: the guy had the aura of a character from some artsy film. A street whore whose bewitching looks and personality had a genius painter fall tragically in love with him. 

Suddenly Dean was aware that the guy was looking back, straight at him. For a moment he felt trapped in the eye contact, stomach muscles contracting with a thrilling emotion he couldn’t identify, including whether it was pleasant or not. He averted his eyes. He probably knew the guy from somewhere, that must have been it. Someone famous for Jaime to go into such a fanboy mode. Cocky Boys. It sounded like a stupid band name. What was happening to music these days?

“What is he, some kind of a rock star?” Dean asked. “Cocky Boys, ha!” He had to laugh. In his peripheral vision he could still catch the guy’s gaze on him. “That’s kind of on the nose,” Dean went on, still grinning. “Who chooses that for a band name?”

Like a compulsion he shot another look over his shoulder. Jake Base or whatever his name was must have looked away, because his eyes shifted immediately to meet Dean’s. 

Then he smiled.

 _He should be a porn star,_ Dean thought dazedly. _A gay porn star._

“He’s a porn star,” Jaime half-whispered. “A gay porn star.”

Dean gaped at him. “What?” 

“He’s so hot, oh God! He’s the hottest top I’ve seen, although he says he loves to bottom…” Jaime was babbling, still clutching a little at Kate’s elbow. 

“Hey, whoa, hey…” Dean waved his hands sending the universal message of TMI, while Kate shushed them both. “Why don’t you go talk to him?” she asked Jaime. 

“What, ask for his autograph?” Dean knew his smirk was heading for dirty before he’d even delivered his punch line. “Where will you ask him to sign?” 

Kate rolled her eyes but Jaime seemed a little frayed around the edges. 

“Dude, chill. He’s just a dude,” Dean told him, eyes automatically moving to the dude in question. His stomach jolted at the eye contact. 

“He’s not just—” Jaime shook his head, not finishing his sentence. “Like, he’s insanely hot and—” His eyes bulged a little. “Oh my God, he’s coming, he’s coming…”

At any other time Dean would have found the phrasing hilarious. Right now he froze at the implications of the words. For a split second his eyes shot to Sam who was placing drinks in front of the other three, face just as friendly as it had been all night. In the next moment Dean’s vision was filled with a pair of heavy lidded eyes, their green seeming almost hazel under the black eyebrows and mop of hair. Eyes, but one hell of a red mouth, too.

“Hey.”

Dean’s “Hey,” was purely on automatic. His everything was on automatic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met anyone so physical that up close they crowded everything else out. Dean wondered distantly if the rumors about sirens specified they had to be females. 

“I’m Jake.”

Dean had straightened up, struck by the conflicting impulses to both turn to Jake and press against the table, away from him. “Dean.” 

There was a solution for his inner confusion. Diversion. 

“This is Kate,” he told Jake. “And that’s Jaime. He’s a big fan.” Dean couldn’t help the twang of teasing in his voice.

“Oh yeah?” Jake looked at Jamie, lips pursing and relaxing, as if they couldn’t contain their own charge. “Good to know.” His voice was a little high, more thanks to his youth—he was hardly over twenty-two, twenty-three—rather than to him being girly. He sure wasn’t totally manly, either, though. He was scrambling all of Dean’s perceptions.

“Yeah, ah…” Jaime cleared his throat. “You guys are something else.”

“Thanks.” Jake gave him a small smile, eyes returning to Dean. He hesitated, but just like with all his body language, there was nothing tense or complicated about it. “Can I join you, or you guys want to join us?” He gestured with his head towards the bar. 

The thought of joining Jake and his friends at the bar right next to Sam was beyond uncomfortable, but Dean had no idea what he was going to talk about with the guy if he just stayed there with them. 

Kate spoke, startling Dean. “Sure. You should get your friends to come join us.”

Twenty minutes later Dean was feeling like a fly in a spider’s web. His night had taken a sudden turn into pastures…odd. His whole life had. Two days ago he was trying to remove some monster spleen juice from his jeans. Hell, his left shoulder still complained about that particular experience. Now he was in some bar in Wisconsin where Sammy worked an honest to God real shift and all kinds of gay people had gathered around Dean’s table like moths to a flame. It didn’t help that although Dean had slowed down his drinking he still felt a little hazy.

Everyone was getting along fine, even Jaime. Dean had rightly placed him as still being in his shell, but the kid managed to contribute with the odd one-liner, eyes glistening as they shifted quickly between the four newcomers and Carter. Carter had materialized back in their midst just in time to share some frantic whispering with Jaime before Jake and his pals joined them. This was probably some kind of publicly approved porn heaven for Jaime and Carter, Dean thought, instantly picturing himself surrounded by a few busty Asian beauties. (The fantasy definitely held appeal, although it was muted, almost reflexive.) Kate had a lot to say and so did two of the guys with Jake, the third one unbelievably pouty and not really the sharpest tool in the box. 

The conversation revolved around places to visit, interesting websites, sex, funny stories, and fashion. Dean had wondered what he would say to Jake, but it turned out he’d misjudged the scope of the situation. He had no idea what to say on most of these subjects to any of these people. His life seemed to have happened in some universe parallel to theirs. He very much doubted their definitions of interesting places, cool websites or fashion had much in common with his own. Fashion for Dean was worn jeans, t-shirts and shirts: some of them plaid, all of them comfortable. Then there was his leather jacket that used to be Dad’s and the amulet Sam had given Dean for Christmas many years ago that Dean never took off. That was pretty much it. As for interesting websites, to him they meant research for bizarre occurrences, most of them gruesome to boot. Finally, Dean was pretty prepared on some choice places across the country you _shouldn’t_ visit, but he really couldn’t share the reasons why with his companions.

Like the wings of a butterfly fluttering close to his skin but never brushing it, the feeling of Sam, Sam, Sam was elusive to pinpoint at first. But when instead of darting glances Dean let his eyes get their fill of his brother’s tall form behind the bar, he felt it right down to his core. Sammy. Sam was the bridge between both worlds, adapted to both of them. Sam shared Dean’s world and connected to that of normal people, acting like an interpreter for Dean on occasion.

All throughout the conversation Jake didn’t say much, but when he did, it invariably had some character, even when the comment itself might not have been the kind to put on the front page. Mostly Jake reacted to the rest of the group or just watched people as they spoke. Sometimes his interactions were limited to a silent exchange with one of his friends that had him pull an undecipherable face. At other times there was a smile, even a short outburst of a giggle. But most often he listened with a peculiar child-like expression, something sullen about it for a moment, or vacant at another. His language would have made hookers blush. Dean was half-amused, half-put off by that.

Up close, he could see Jake’s ink better: big, vivid flowers, the blue green on the one taking over half his neck standing out the most. There were a few flowers down his chest on the right and two big ones on the backs of his hands. 

He was like a painting that you only got by looking at it, not by trying to figure it out on some intellectual level. So Dean kept looking.

Jake didn’t hold back, either. His eyes were on and off Dean, mostly on, the whole time. There was nothing predatory or edgy in his gaze. It was still easily some of the most unambiguous attention Dean had ever gotten. Jake was unambiguous. He exuded sex like movie stars exuded confidence. 

Lately sex had felt like a mirage for Dean, something wanted but never quite real, shimmering into view then swiftly disappearing into nothingness. Dean didn’t sit down to write an essay about it but he nonetheless knew in detail what was happening, or rather why.

_‘Too slow. I win’_

_‘I didn't race you, couldn't focus to text, couldn't think. You good?’_

_‘So good. So awkward. Sorry, dude. Weird night. Blame the voodoo storm. But yeah, really really fucking good.’_

_‘Told you already, stop explaining why and what, Sam’_

_‘Guess I should let you go now.’  
‘Unless you want me to stay?’_

_‘No, just wanted to know you're good. I'm gonna move this party to my bed now’_

_‘Ok. Enjoy. I know you will. I did.’_

Dean had brought himself to the brink of coming three times after that texting exchange, each time pulling back from the precipice, then working himself up again. He was dripping with sweat by the third time, feeling weightless and high. It was as if he’d been shown a temporary loophole to another dimension where he was allowed to picture whatever he wanted to picture. He kept himself on the edge for ages the third time, not even letting each fantasy play out in full, just flipping through unbearably erotic snapshots of Sam until he couldn’t hold it anymore. His orgasm had made him shiver with aftershocks for so long, Dean’s pulse had begun picking up again with panic.

He hooked up with two women in the weeks after he and Sam stopped texting, both times feeling like he was going through the motions. Same with jerking off. He’d done it less and less, more like doing something necessary to keep in shape. Each time he’d had his eyes focused firmly on the screen where some chick was either being fucked or was blowing a guy, throwing him the kind of looks that were obviously just for the camera. Funny how Dean just knew he could spot real desire. The thing with chicks was that nature made it possible for them to fake it. You could tell without a fail if a guy was really into it.

“You got a lighter?” Jake spoke close to Dean’s ear.

Dean blinked, then unfroze. “Yeah.” He was already reaching for the lighter in his pocket.

“Come outside for a smoke.”

‘I don’t smoke,’ didn’t even make it to Dean’s lips. It was pretty relevant, but then again so was ‘I’m not gay,’ yet that one was taking its time to be put out there, too.

Jake held his gaze; not pushing, just waiting to see if Dean would follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All images linked below are safe for work.
> 
> Notes by the Dean POV author: Jake Base is, er, based - in an extremely thinly veiled way - on [Jake Bass](http://40.media.tumblr.com/4856d837420d70c0ec54f38abe86e0c8/tumblr_mu7e30aZIj1sfqyhko1_500.png), who _is_ a [gay porn star](http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/b7/f9/f7/b7f9f71762dd4b71e7b61efb68ffa838.jpg) and until recently, the Internet informs me, was part of the Cocky Boys studio. I don't know him so his personality is purely the product of my imagination, as is obviously everything that happens in the story.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.
> 
> For warnings for this chapter you can check the notes at the end. These are also spoilers, so please, consider trusting us, unless there are certain things that really do bother you. We are both immensely grateful to you all for your trust so far as well as your encouraging comments and kudos - thank you!♥

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_The night on the day of Dean’s arrival, Madison, WI_

_Dean_

 

The air outside felt almost chilly for a moment, making Dean glad that he had his jacket inside for later. He realized he hadn’t even expected that Jake would just come out and smoke in front of the bar. Dean followed him to the corner that turned into the alley alongside the building. Jake kept walking until they reached the second corner that led to the back of The Dane where he stopped. 

Dean was clutching his lighter and started lifting it to Jake’s face. A hand stopped his on its journey.

“I don’t want to smoke,” Jake told him. “Not now. Later.”

“Okay,” Dean said dumbly, hand dropping by his thigh before moving again to slide the lighter back into his jeans pocket.

“I want to suck your cock.”

Dean froze, breathing reduced to the bare minimum. He literally didn’t know what to say. His heart was pounding with adrenaline and panic, while Jake was looking at him with a chill, uninhibited expression, eyes like amber in the magenta glow of scant streetlight.

He took a step closer to Dean. “You want to…?” 

Dean opened his mouth but only a poor imitation of a stammer came out. He tried to summon up any reaction, but found himself utterly void of reason. Jake’s eyes fell to his parted mouth and his lips quirked to one side, making a dimple pop up on his cheek.

“You’re really hot,” he told Dean, his smile lazy and sincere. “I swear you’re hotter than most of the guys I fuck at the studio. Or just for fun.”

Dean swallowed. “Thanks.”

Jake took another step closer. He smelled like a good shower and like deodorant, and there was something more, too, an aftershave maybe or some hair styling product. Mixing with the smells of the bar and Jake’s own, the overall effect was of something heady but still clean.

Dean had taken a shower before he left. He had clean underwear and his skin was clean everywhere…

“You want to fuck me?” Jake asked, his head moving a little like a cat butting it. “I got condoms.”

Dean huffed a weary laugh, startling himself. His second surprise came when he heard himself stringing words together, his autopilot finally kicking back in and retrieving answers from the recesses of Dean’s memory. This wasn’t the first time he’d been hit on by a guy, although it’d never happened so matter-of-factly. Never by such a hot guy, either, let alone by a porn star. 

“Look, man,” Dean said. It crossed his mind to step back, but he knew the wall was behind him so he didn’t move. “That’s very flattering, but I’m going to have to pass.”

“Is it the bartender?”

Dean felt his heart jump in his throat. Sam’s working face, polite and smiling, flashed in his mind’s eye. “What?”

“I saw you checking him out,” Jake said, nothing but distracted curiosity in his eyes. The words still made Dean seize with dread. Had he been be looking at Sam so often? Had he been looking at Sam that way? Was it just because this guy here literally made a living out of being gay and into sex? Maybe Dean hadn’t been that obvious, maybe Jake saw gayness in every hot guy. Sam must have seemed like a fucking wet dream to these guys. Jake must have caught Dean look at him once or twice, then played out some porn fantasy in his head. Maybe Kate saw it, too. People used to take them for a couple before…before… Before.

What if it had always been there, from the first time that nice lady in the pet store in Iowa thought sixteen-year-old Sam was Dean’s boyfriend? God knows how many people had seen it on Dean’s face and never said anything. Maybe everyone saw the way Dean looked at Sam and thought he was into him, even before Dean even knew it himself, and Jake here was just saying it out loud. 

No. No! No one saw anything. It was just Jake, because he was gay.

Dean hadn’t spent more than a couple of seconds flailing inwardly, but it still felt like a century. He looked at Jake askance. “No! He’s my brother, I just came down to see him today.”

“Oh.” Jake nodded. “Okay,” he added conversationally, only his gaze speaking of how interested he still was in fulfilling his wishes when it came to Dean. 

Through his hammering pulse Dean realized Jake wasn’t going to comment further. His light skin was glowing a little, the ink looking almost eerie in comparison. Jake pursed his lips, his tongue pushing them back out to fullness, the gesture sensual and unselfconscious.

“You really sure? That you don’t want me to blow you?” 

Dean’s eyes jumped to Jake’s to find their lids drooping in easy seduction. Below them, there was a spark of amusement and a lot of promise.

Seconds ticked and Dean said nothing. 

Jake moved closer still, hand reaching to press against Dean’s belt buckle, fingers rubbing a little above it through the t-shirt. His eyes were on Dean’s face; when Dean didn’t push him away, Jake’s palm slid up to cover Dean’s stomach. Jake just kept it there for several seconds, massaging in small circular movements. His breathing was changing—Dean could hear it, but couldn’t feel it on his skin yet. 

Jake’s lips didn’t seem to be able to keep still, their fullness constantly rippled by little twitches and sudden licks.

Dean realized he’d stopped breathing only when he gasped at the feel of Jake’s palm covering his dick through his jeans. His teeth bit into his bottom lip at the rush of sensation. Jake’s hand felt large and certain down there. Unmistakable pleasure coursed through Dean’s groin, shocking him into realization that he’d been half hard before Jake had even touched him.

Their bodies were pressed now, chest to chest. Jake’s eyes were flicking all over Dean’s face, his head continuing its subtle cat-like motions. He began making half-audible humming sounds, so obviously into this that Dean felt an itchy flush all over his skin.

Jake bore his eyes into Dean’s for one long second, before dropping to his knees and lightly pushing Dean back to lean against the wall. Dean did, chin tipping upward as he stared at the night sky, mind blank. A few moments later his eyes shut involuntarily at the swift eruption of heat and saliva around his dick. 

Jake sucked him off like a pro—like an actual goddamn pro, so skillful and intense that Dean blindly reached behind himself, fingers scraping for purchase at the wall. 

He hadn’t had anyone blow him this good in years. He had avoided it for months, not letting women do it for him at all or at least not for long—just as means for him to have it up quickly, so he could get it over with. None of them was half as good as Jake. His mouth felt so right, filthy along Dean’s dick… God, Dean needed this, it had been building up for forever with no real outlet in sight, because nothing quite worked. What came close was just a fantasy that left him even hungrier; a fucking fantasy that didn’t even include Dean. It was just Sam, only Sam, rolling his eyes in pleasure, looking down at someone faceless who hummed around the head of his dick, just as hot for it as Jake was now, playing with Dean with his tongue before he suddenly deep-throated him. Dean could hear himself pant, a desperate, quiet sob escaping his chest at how much he wanted—

Letting himself enjoy sex had been like a vortex. Dean knew where that vortex would spit him out if he let it, so he didn’t. He didn’t, so he could have the right to come here. Here, where he ended up biting back his moans like he’d bitten back the dread of desire. Here, where he was coming undone thanks to a stranger’s mouth right next to a wall that was as useless in hiding who was behind it as the wall Dean kept inside himself.

\---

_Sam_

 

Sam couldn’t pinpoint when exactly the night turned weird, he only felt it when it was a done deal. Like he’d thought earlier, he’d never seen Dean from this new angle behind the bar and kind of helpless, watching from afar. And after a while, he couldn’t really see him at all; their little table got crowded when Jake and his friends joined Dean and Kate and Jaime. Sam kept looking, though, moving along the bar on autopilot and catching glimpses of his brother as bodies shifted and heads turned. 

Once he looked up to find Dean full-on staring at him, his mouth twisting to make his not-dimples visible from across the room, and Sam felt the force of _Dean, right there_ like a smack to the chest, an echo of the way Dean’s hands had rested there barely an hour ago, the first contact they’d had in months. And Sam grinned at him, couldn’t help it, but Dean was already looking away. Each time Sam looked for him after that, Dean’s eyes were on Jake.

“Hey!” Kate said, a little breathless, dropping onto a stool in front of Sam and leaning forward on the bar.

“Hey,” he cocked his head at her. “Everything good?”

She laughed and fanned her fingers up off the bar. “Where to even start. Oh, another Long Island, that would be good. Double, pretty please?”

He set to mixing while she rested her cheek on her fist, eyes darting back to her table. Sam looked too, then looked again, craning his neck. “Where’s Dean?”

“He and Jake went outside for a cigarette.”

A few ice cubes skittered wide of the glass he was holding. “What? My brother doesn’t smoke.”

“Uh. Oh.” Kate turned wide eyes back to him, her shoulders quivering in silent amusement. “Well, okay then.”

She ordered drinks for the rest of the group on Jake’s tab, and Sam didn’t ask her what she’d meant. He managed to wait it out for ten minutes, the ball of nervous dread in his chest swelling from a little marble-sized thing rattling around his ribcage to a roaring monster clawing to get out and give Dean a piece of his mind. Better his mind than his heart, Sam thought as he snagged Nick by the elbow and asked him to cover the bar for a second. Dean’s big brother bullshit was on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung like a grenade when he found him.

 _‘I know you're a big boy but I'm just gonna say it. Monsters are monsters, but it's freaking people, man. You should know better. You know a bar attracts all kinds. You gotta promise me you'll watch out for yourself.’_

There were people outside, as always, smoking and talking, waiting on friends or taxis or for the light to change, coming and going. A bustle for midnight on a Thursday, but hardly a surprise. The lights gleaming on the dome of the Capitol building made everything seemed planned, Sam always thought, like this street corner was a stage set and everything always went by the script. Except not tonight, when Dean and Jake were not among the smokers, nowhere in sight. He took a deep breath, but aside from the smoke, the air was clean, no sulfur. Anyway, no way this random guy was a demon and his tattoos weren’t right for a djinn, either, but Sam honestly didn’t know the signs of sirens or incubi. If they even existed.

Sam found them in the same alley where not all that long ago he’d puked whiskey into the gutter with Dean waiting on the phone to talk him down, get him home. There, behind the stack of pallets outside the delivery door, illuminated by the flickering red and blue sign over their heads, he could just make them out. Mostly Dean, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back. The cool glow of streetlight and moonlight caressing his skin made him look almost saintly. His jaw was slack, eyes closed, one hand resting unselfconsciously on Jake’s hip, a glitter of metal pressed between his fingers and the pale sliver of Jake’s bare skin between shirt and jeans. His lighter. 

Jake’s back was to Sam where he stood pressed against Dean, a cigarette smoldering down to the filter between his fingers, a sheen of sweat glistening on the back of his neck. His tattoos were ethereal in the darkness and he looked even more sprite-like, his head tucked under Dean’s chin, a thin stream of smoke trickling from between his lips, caressing Dean’s skin. Basking in his glow.

Sam watched them for a few long seconds with one hand braced on the rough brick of the wall beside him, his chest doing a weird thing where it didn’t really want to expand all the way, as if the _tableau_ in front of him was too intimate to be disturbed by even the breath of a stranger, not while Dean’s and Jake’s were intermingling so freely. But then Dean began to stir, Sam could see his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, and so he ducked away, tripping down to the mouth of the alley and bolting to the door.

Inside, the noise and the warmth, the smell of booze and food and bodies that had been oppressive just a minute ago felt welcoming and safe. He leaned against one of the columns by the host stand, breathing hard now that he could draw in more than a thimbleful of air at a time, and gave a shaky reassurance to Emily’s worried inquiry. He dragged a hand over his mouth and then through his hair and made his way back to the bar. Nick glared at him and shooed him down to the end to take orders from a group of frat boys who were already edging toward the far side of rowdy.

He topped off their glasses and then poured himself a shot of Jack on the down-low, tossed it back while Nick wasn’t looking, and turned just in time to see Jake sliding like an eel through the crowd to rejoin the table. He made so little splash that although Drew moved a bit to make a space for him it seemed automatic, almost unconscious, like Jake’s was a presence that made itself felt by some higher sense than sight or touch. And on that unsettling thought Sam lifted his eyes to see Dean heading towards them from the direction of the bathroom, an easy roll in this gate that Sam recognized almost before he noticed it, the hair around his face slightly damp.

Sam had watched Dean screw around his whole life. He could remember the first time he figured out what was going on, when he was maybe twelve or thirteen and on the verge of outright panic because Dean wasn’t home and Dad didn’t seem to care. He had on the kind of not-caring face that meant he held all the cards and was only going to share on a need-to-know basis, and Sammy never needed to know. He hadn’t quite grown to hate that look on Dad’s face yet so it still shut him up good when he saw it, but it didn’t stop him from freaking out because Dean wasn’t home and Sam knew what was out there, he _knew_ how many things out there might keep someone from getting home when they were supposed to. 

And when Dean finally flopped into his bed across from Sam’s, the clock on the nightstand reading almost 1 AM, Sam lit into Dean, a furious whispered tirade while he white-knuckled the sheets until he realized Dean was _laughing_ at him, his shoulders shaking silently until Sam fell quiet. And Dean had rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand, looking at Sam across the three feet of space between their beds. _Don’t worry, kiddo, I used protection_. Sam ended up learning a lot more that night than he had in any health class before or after, grateful for the darkness that hid the way his face felt like it was on fire while Dean sprawled on the other bed and laid it all out there for him.

No darkness to hide in here, where Sam was trapped behind the bar like he was on display. Dean sat not ten feet away from him and Sam could swear there was a freaking spotlight on his brother, drawing all eyes like a magnet. Or maybe just Sam’s, he didn’t know anymore. 

“Hey,” Nick slapped Sam on the back, shaking his shoulder. “You okay?”

Startled into looking up, Sam blinked at him. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Not feeling great but I’m fine.”

Nick frowned. “Step it up, Winchester. One more hour.”

Sam blinked and wondered where the night had gone. It hadn’t even been twelve hours since Dean showed up, casting his shadow over Sam’s afternoon nap in the sun.

There was a sharp tug behind his navel and he looked up in time to see Dean’s eyes start to slide away from him, then snap back almost involuntarily. Sam’s answering smile was just as automatic but he didn’t try to check it. Maybe he’d just seen something he never thought he’d see but it didn’t have to change anything — Dean was still Dean, and he was _here_. 

He shouldn’t have been thinking about Dean that way, that was all. Thinking of him as a sure thing. As his sure thing. He thought he’d learned that lesson months ago, sitting on the steps of the same church where Dean had found him earlier that day, angry words pouring out of his phone as Dean railed at him for asking what had seemed to Sam like a pretty straightforward question. 

_‘I freaking hate it when you're being a smart ass, you know that? What do you think, I'm some kinda guinea pig that you and your stupid pretentious psychology classmates can talk about? Fuck that’_  
 _‘You wanna say something, you wanna ask me something, you come out and say it, you don't act like a fucking smart ass’_

All he’d wanted was to know everything about Dean, everything he was doing, everything he was thinking. All he ever wanted: Dean. Miserable and unbearably lonely and halfway sure that Dean had just called it quits and wasn’t going to talk to him anymore, Sam had walked home from that train wreck of an afternoon, repeating it like a mantra. _All I ever wanted._ In his stupid fucked up miserable goddamn excuse for a life, all he wanted for himself was his fucking beautiful stupid moron of a big brother—was that too much to ask from a universe that had been shitting on them since he was six months old? 

Yes, actually. Because while Dean might never reject him, that didn’t mean Sam should tempt him to. Dean deserved whatever scraps of happiness he would take for himself, Sam knew that. Since Stanford he’d come to realize and then to accept that his brother was never going to value himself half as much, a _quarter_ as much, as he was worth, and he was never going to take anything for himself that he thought was too good for him. If this was what Dean was doing now, screwing around with guys in back alleys after texting Sam that he was his number one boy, so what. Right? Because Sam was always going to come first for Dean — maybe they weren’t texting like that anymore but Dean had promised him that much and it would take a lot more than this to make Sam start to doubt that promise. Why should Dean have to tell him about what he was doing on the side, like he had to clear it with him or something? Sam definitely hadn’t been keeping his brother in the loop about what he’d been up to lately, about anyone who’d been keeping him warm on the occasional long night as the chilly silence stretched out between him and Dean.

Last call startled him back to the present and he looked up to see the bar emptying out. Sam met Dean’s eyes without meaning to and felt his robotic smile grow genuine, the monster in his chest relaxed its grip around his heart. He reached for an empty pint glass and held it up, lifting his eyebrows. _Want another?_ Dean’s mouth twitched, surprised maybe, and he licked his lips, then shook his head. Sam shrugged and went back to work. He cleared his throat and called out a friendly good night as Jake and his friends left, waved to Kate who was yawning and leaning on Jaime. And then it was just Sam and the rest of the night crew, and Dean. Sam heard Nick tell Dean that he was locking up but Dean could stick around while Sam finished up. Sam hurried through his closing tasks without looking much at his brother until he was done for the night. Sliding up to him, Sam picked his pocket for the car keys. “Ready to go?”  
\---

_Dean_

 

The noises his car made were lulling in their familiarity, just like her vibrations. They were a good counterpoint to the tremors that had run through Dean’s body less than an hour earlier thanks to a stranger’s mouth. The breakneck speed with which strangeness and familiarity had been swapping places all day was driving Dean to a point of numbness. He was overwhelmed, there was no shame admitting that. He’d set off this morning, anticipation like hot lead filling up every cavity in his body. He’d found a sunshine boy on the steps of a church and the world had started spinning like a merry-go-round until he was here hours later, riding shotgun in the dark, the sunshine boy— _brother_ —behind the wheel. Taking Dean home. 

“So,” Sam said, starting him out of his reverie. There was some small amusement in that single syllable. “Didn’t know you’d gone back to smoking.”

Dean frowned, racking his brain for anything to give Sam’s words meaning. He was still a little woozy, but he was definitely nowhere near drunk enough to forget if he’d smoked. The taste in his mouth would have been very different. Besides, he’d never really enjoyed smoking. He only carried his lighter with him for the job—

Jake. 

Dean fought the impulse to turn to Sam abruptly and stare, decipher what Sam was actually asking. He flicked some invisible specs of dirt off his thigh and cleared his throat.

“Nah. Just went out for some fresh air.”

Sam was taking his time with his reply and Dean risked a look at him. Blank face, eyes on the road, hands at ten and two—the perfect driver.

“Who ratted me out?” Dean asked.

“Does it matter?”

There was nothing accusatory, or false, or in any way over-invested in Sam’s voice yet an unpleasant shiver ran down Dean’s body. He waited for Sam to say something else, fully aware that chances were he wouldn’t. 

Barely a minute later Dean spoke again. “You asking me about the smoking or something else?”

That earned him a quick sideways glance. Once he was looking ahead again Sam shrugged. “None of my business.”

Yes, because people totally initiated conversations about things they thought were none of their business. Sam wasn’t fooling anybody. Their big argument during their time apart had been because Sam—who often played his cards so close to his damn chest—had poked at Dean, trying to find out really personal stuff.

_‘Can I ask you a question?’_  
‘Have you been sleeping with guys?  
‘I'm just trying to figure something out.’ 

_‘How about you tell me what you're trying to figure out instead of asking me questions?’_

_‘Just the way you've been after me about keeping some big secret from you and how you keep making these statements that make it sound like you think I'm gay. I'm just wondering if you've got some kind of reverse psychology thing going on.’_

_‘Alright, you know what, just because you're in college now doesn't make you Dr. Freud so quit trying to analyze me! I hate it when you're being a smart ass, you know that? What do you think, I'm some kinda guinea pig that you and your stupid pretentious psychology class classmates can talk about? Fuck that’_

It had made Dean so mad. Sam, once again trying to pry him open, hooking his curious little finger into an intimate secret that made Dean reel each time he pictured his brother’s face, arms, chest, smile… Sam might as well have sent him a message: ‘Do you like me? Circle Y/N.’—that was how knowing his question had felt. The way he’d so freaking… _clinically_ justified his intrusion had been the final nail in the coffin, pushing Dean to lash out. Hours later, he’d read through the messages and seen how quickly Sammy had backpedalled, trying to pacify him. Dean felt so messed up with anger and then guilt it had taken him two days to contact his brother again.

In hindsight he understood that Sam’s interest had been personal through and through, nothing clinical about it. He still didn’t know if that made it better or worse. 

Back in the present he couldn’t help the snort that flew out of him at Sam’s innocent, “None of my business.”

“What?” Sam responded, a little high-pitched, eyes shooting to Dean again. “It isn’t.”

“Yeah, whatever, dude.” Dean couldn’t muster even an ounce of energy to try to untangle in what ways their individual businesses were woven together. It sounded like the kind of thing he might think about, but Sam would be the one to embark on articulating it, so Dean had all the more sense to give it up.

They drove in silence for a minute, the music seeming strangely loud despite Sam turning the volume so low, it was a strain for the ear to catch the words.

“Unless you want to tell me?” Sam said, and Dean groaned.

“Nothing to tell. Just…nothing.”

“Sure didn’t look like nothing.” 

This time Dean did swivel in his seat to stare at Sam, whose face was still blank, just like his voice. 

“What? You saw— You saw us?” Fear, embarrassment, a dark rush of adrenaline chased away any traces of intoxication from Dean’s system. “What did you see?”

“You and that dude.” Sam took a breath but didn’t speak for a few seconds. “You looked kind of cozy.” 

“We did?” Dean heard himself ask, dazed. At least he could pretend it was his strategic move to get Sam to spill what he’d seen.

“Yeah.” Sam glanced at him, face finally showing some stronger emotion. Concern, and something guilty maybe? “Dean, it’s okay. All right? I didn’t… I didn’t see anything, you know. Just you and him kind of…close. I don’t want us to fight about it. Okay?” Even through the noise in his ears Dean could recognize Sam’s anxiousness. 

“We’re not going to fight,” he reassured him on instinct. He said nothing to the rest, lost for words, mind trying to process the idea of Sam actually seeing him and Jake in any kind of compromising position. It wouldn’t have been a first for sure—Sam had had his share of awkward encounters, seeing parts of Dean’s anatomy ‘in action’. But this was different. Because it was a guy, after Dean had bitten Sam’s head off for just asking. Because it was as soon as Dean had shown up here after half-a-fucking-year apart, after all that had gone on between them—never discussed, never even mentioned, but still as real to the touch as his baby’s leather—making it seem like he was shoving Sam’s face in it. _Look how much what we said doesn’t mean to me, Sammy, I’m going to go fuck around with a guy right under your nose._ Not only was it a complete lie, the not-meaning-anything part, it made Dean’s insides burn at hurting Sam that way. What had he been thinking?

He hadn’t been. Story of his life.

His protracted silence prompted Sam to look at him again, this time lingering. Maybe they would crash and die a horrible death, and be saved the need to continue this conversation.

“Look, like I said it’s none of my business.” Sam’s eyes were back on the road. Too sensible, Sammy, steady head on those shoulders. Dean watched his smooth forehead for a few seconds, until Sam turned to him again, the eye contact fleeting this time. “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he added with quiet sincerity. “Sorry, man.”

For a moment profound relief swept through Dean, followed instantly by something akin to disappointment. One more heartbeat, and there was understanding. Clarity and understanding, albeit having all the marks of resignation. Sam was fine with it. Dean’s private freak-out had been for nothing. Whatever line they had kept toeing in their text exchanges, it was more about their closeness, and on Sam’s part, a playful, semi-conscious exertion of his power over Dean. 

“Don’t matter,” Dean spoke, shrugging. “It was nothing anyway. Just some stress relief. The guy was hot as sin and I’d never… You know, with a guy. So I thought why not.” Ironically, on the surface most of it was true.

Sam nodded. He opened his mouth to speak again, but thought better of it and closed it, making tension drain a little from Dean’s shoulders. 

Yet he also wanted… He wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was about what he didn’t want. Maybe he didn’t want for Sam to let it go. Maybe this time he wanted Sam to pick at him, find that loose thread and tug at it, even if unraveling whatever was going on meant exposing a mess of epic proportions. Otherwise it left it to Dean to hold it all up together and while only a short while ago that had seemed totally doable, doubt gnawed at his insides now about whether he wasn’t in way over his head.

He reached for the radio and found a hard rock station, then turned up the volume a few notches. Sam still said nothing, his conscientious driver’s face more like a mask now, his hands on the wheel steady and tension-free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter contains Dean/Original Male Character. It's a one off for Dean, this continues to be very much a Wincest story. The course of true love never did run smoothly and writers are creatures with very vivid imaginations that sometimes take them on a whim to pastures new and unexpected. But we do love Sam/Dean and that's our endgame. We both discussed that whenever we think of Dean and Jake, it's Dean's desperation about how bad he has it for Sam that comes to mind. Still, we are aware that for some readers it's quite abhorrent to see the boys with anyone else so we felt we should warn.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_June, 2008, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

 

It was kind of funny, the things that didn’t change.

Like the way Dean claimed the door side of the bed without asking even though, you know, this was Sam’s house and Sam’s bed and Sam kind of preferred that side too but yeah, okay, Dean, sleep where you want. Big brother privilege, guest privilege, choose your weapon. _But choose it carefully, Dean, because I’m not going to put up with it forever._

But it was all right, that first night. Dean, in Sam’s bed, warm and breathing steadily, so present beside him that the last six months already seemed like a dream. Dean, taking up more than half the bed and smiling, drowsy and drunk in a way Sam rarely got to see him because drinking usually meant a hard and fast hour at the bar and back to the motel or out to a graveyard. But that first night Dean had been drinking slowly for six hours and he was soft and pliant and he wouldn’t stop smiling and Sam wondered if his brother had already forgotten their awkward conversation in the car, already forgotten his interlude with that bright-eyed, tattooed stranger. Or if the whole thing simply meant so little to Dean that twenty minutes later it was just another event in their history, no more or less complicated than any other. _One can smile and smile and be a villain,_ Sam thought, when he caught himself staring at Dean’s mouth and thinking that he hadn’t been remembering that smile properly, or else it had gone and gotten even more blinding in the months they’d been apart.

But Dean had been there, for real, smelling like a stranger and smiling. Sam had been sober and he’d wanted to smile back, to beam at his brother like he was the one responsible for sunsets and rainbows and internet puppy memes, but his brother smelled weird and should have been out hunting things and saving lives, except that he was in his bed and Sam had to turn and face the other way because that cologne, that stranger’s scent, was lingering in a way he really didn’t like. At least when they were sharing a motel room he had his own bed to stretch out in and Dean’s conquests didn’t leave any lasting mark, never soaked into his own skin if he kept enough distance.

_‘I don't know what I'll be thinking when I wake up tomorrow or in five years or whenever. But I can tell you who I'll be thinking about’_

Funny how some things changed so much and others didn’t budge an inch. It was like playing Red Rover with the universe, flinging yourself against barriers you expect will give way and getting pulled up short every time.

Dean still made those snuffling, snorting noises as he was waking up. Dean was still bitchy as hell until someone put a cup of coffee in his hand. Lucky for Dean, Sam had been awake since seven doing the homework he didn’t finish yesterday (not to mention reading up on the patterns of sirens and incubi, not sure if he was hoping or fearing to get a positive match and refusing to analyze his reaction when he didn’t), so he was ready with a fresh cup when Dean began to stir, grumble, then thrash around like for a moment he didn’t know where he was, one hand reaching out for the brother in the motel bed that wasn’t there this time. It was two seconds, maybe three, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quick, but Sam never blinked when he was looking at Dean.

Dean sat up and pushed the covers down, his boxers crumpled around his thighs and his shirt rucked up to show a bare, pale slice of stomach. Sam bit the inside of his cheek, glad he’d thought to change into real clothes before Dean woke up because, drunk as he was last night, Dean hadn’t realized that the shirt Sam wore to bed was Dean’s. The vintage Zeppelin shirt, the one Dean found in a thrift store on their first clothes run after Stanford and crowed over for a month. The shirt Sam quietly stole when he left for Madison six months ago.

“The hell are you smiling at, Happy?” Dean grumbled, taking the coffee mug.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Definitely not your morning face, Grumpy.”

“Fuck off,” Dean muttered, sitting up and blowing across the surface of his coffee, taking a tentative sip then draining half of it in one gulp. Running a hand through his hair he asked, “Time’s it?”

Sam glanced at his watch. “Almost nine?”

Dean groaned and slumped back down on the pillows, careful of his coffee. “This is how you live, dude, seriously? We went to bed like ten minutes ago.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. “This is how the world lives, Dean. Fuck around all night so you can tolerate working all day. Work all day so you can afford to fuck around all night.”

“And on the third day…” Dean mumbled, performing a complicated roll to sit up just enough to take another sip of coffee without actually defying gravity, putting the mug down on Sam’s desk.

“And on the third day,” Sam echoed, closing his book and coming to loom over Dean. “And on the third day, he rose. So it is written.”

Dean struggled against him but Sam got him upright eventually, then it was both of them panting and laughing before they were finally standing in the middle of the room, Dean holding Sam in a headlock while he casually finished the rest of his coffee. Sam made a couple of token attempts at escape but never really tried to break Dean’s hold on him, to get away from the most contact they’d had in six months. No – eight. Since that last poltergeist got the drop on him and Dean had hauled him bodily from the old house, pushed him up against the car and run his hands all over him, checking for injuries, before cuffing the side of his head and calling him an idiot. Dean slurped loudly and Sam pretended there was nothing weird about standing around bent almost double with his face pressed against Dean’s ribs, his voice muffled as he told Dean he had class most of the day but that Dean could do whatever he wanted, Sam would leave him a key to the house and they could grab dinner together somewhere, figure out what to do next.

While they were washing up their coffee cups and breakfast dishes, Jasmine sidled into the kitchen, giving Dean a covert look through the bangs falling over her ever-watchful eyes. Sam introduced Dean, she nodded, and Sam grinned to see Dean duck his head to give her his ear, the same way Sam had when he first met her. Jasmine was so painfully shy and so library quiet that neither of them, it seemed, could resist turning the talking-to-shell-shocked-witnesses charm on her.

But Dean’s charm was better than Sam’s in this case, apparently. It’d taken weeks for Jasmine to look him in the eye and after ten minutes Dean was leaning against the kitchen counter and laughing, Jasmine’s eyes sparkling, and Sam’s teeth were grinding in his jaw at how fucking easy his brother had it.

“Don’t lose this,” he warned, dropping his key into Dean’s hand, trying to look stern. “It costs like twenty-five bucks to get a replacement, okay?”

Dean rolled his eyes, _Yeah, Sammy, okay I get it._ Sam’s stomach clenched tight and he only let himself clap Dean on the shoulder before retrieving his bike off the porch. Dean had wanted to drive him — Dean wanted to do everything for him — but that was stupid. With how bad traffic was this time of day and how close his class was it would be quicker to bike than to slide into the Impala and let Dean take him where he was going.

The Impala. When had she become so alluring? When had she become a she for that matter? He used to tease Dean about it, back when Dad gave it to him. How embarrassing, then, when Dean was fixing up the Buick for him, to find himself thinking in similar terms. Not quite the same, not quite the incessant personification because the Impala really was more than a vehicle in the way the Buick could never be; she was the one constant they’d known since they were children. But the feeling that his new car was somehow more than the sum of her parts was not completely unfamiliar. On the morning he left for school back in January, he’d slid into the front seat and wrapped his hands around the wheel, rolled down the window to look at Dean, standing there with his hand over the door frame, knuckles turning blue in the cold. And Sam understood the narrow-eyed look Dean ran up and down the length of the car, hardly different from the intimidating stare he’d given Sam’s prom date in tenth grade. _Hurt him and you’re scrap metal._

So that first morning Sam woke up with his brother next to him, he got his bike off the porch and as he passed the Impala by he patted her softly, like an apology. Behind him he heard Dean’s soft exhale and for a sharp moment Sam was completely disoriented, left marveling at this reality that was his life now. This reality where he’d woken up with his brother beside him in a house with six other people, none of whom salted their windows, and now he was taking off for school. Once again putting distance between himself and Dean against every instinct that screamed at him to linger, stay, keep close. Never mind that the distance was only what a beat up old bicycle could cover in fifteen minutes. At the end of the block Sam stopped to wait for the light and looked back. Dean was leaning against the car, watching him. Sam lifted a hand, the light changed, and he turned the corner.

\---

“Move _over_ , Dean!”

“You told me to stir this, I’m stirring!”

Sam hip-checked his brother and grabbed the pot off the burner before it bubbled over. “Jesus, Dean, you could burn water!”

Dean shot him a dazzling smile and dipped the fork into the boiling pot, drawing out a mess of noodles. “Hey Sammy, remember how Pastor Jim used to test spaghetti?”

“Yeah.” Sam reached over and snagged one, threw it against the tile backsplash behind the stove. It stuck fast and Sam arched an unimpressed eyebrow at Dean. “And like I told you two minutes ago, it’s _done_.”

Dean’s grin faltered. “Come on, man, lighten up. It’s pasta, not rocket science.”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned away to hide a smile. It was his turn to cook Sunday dinner for his housemates and he should have known better than to let Dean help when he offered but damn if he didn’t want to keep Dean close. He pulled down plates and glasses, making sure to rattle them so it sounded like he was annoyed. It had only been a few days since his brother had shown up and already Sam was dreading the phone call that was going to tear him away, drag him back to the life they used to share.

“Hey, grab the beer out of the fridge, will you?” Sam tossed over his shoulder, carrying a stack of dishes over to the empty table.

“What’ll you give me?” Dean called back, already pulling the refrigerator door open.

“A big old kiss.”

Sam said it without thinking. It was a weird holdout from something-or-other when they were kids, the _big old kiss_ joke. It had made some kind of sense once upon a time, though Sam couldn’t quite remember the punch line anymore.

“Threat or promise?” Dean was saying, and Sam could hear in his voice the way Dean’s chest was tight, how much it took to form the words without any special inflection.

Sam didn’t set the table usually, none of them did, but he started laying out plates and forks just to give himself a reason not to turn around yet. He heard the front door open, heard Tony yell, “Hello!” Then Lissy call back from the living room, “Sam says only a couple more minutes ’til dinner!”

“Definitely promise, jerk,” Sam said finally, turning to face Dean, wiping his palms against the outsides of his thighs.

Dean quirked his eyebrows at him, setting down the case of beer and cocking his head. “Then pucker up, bitch.”

Sam rolled his eyes again but stood his ground, one hand in his pocket and the other toying with the edge of the tablecloth.

Kate burst into the kitchen at that moment, moaning loud and long over how good everything smelled and swirling a spoon through the sauce still bubbling on the stove. She licked it clean, then picked a few pieces of salad out of the bowl with her fingers before poking at the foil-wrapped garlic bread and grinning at Sam when he tried to shoo her away.

The rest of his housemates began trickling in and five minutes later Sam was sitting across from Dean, their knees bumping every time they shifted. Taking his cue from his brother’s wide eyes Sam answered questions for the both of them at first, telling their half-true family story again until Dean got the gist of it and could take over with reasonable credibility.

“…but Sam already told you I was awesome, right?” Dean was talking to Felicity, his foot finding Sam’s under the table.

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking around the table theatrically. “And now that he’s here, you believe me, right?” There was a beat of silence while Dean narrowed his eyes and Sam’s housemates stayed still, waiting to play along with him. Sam looked straight at Dean and spoke in a breathy stage whisper. “He’s Batman.”

Laughter erupted around the table, well aided by the liberal application of beer and wine, and beneath the general noise no one heard Sam’s soft _Ow!_ when Dean kicked him.

“You’re hilarious,” Dean mumbled, trying to keep a straight face. “A real freakin’ comedic genius.”

“Gee.” Sam speared a forkful of salad, grinning down at his plate for a moment before he looked up to meet Dean’s eyes. “I wonder who I learned it from?”

He showed Dean the lake that night after dinner, taking him to the terrace by the Student Union. They walked down the pier in the dark while storm clouds rolled in and the mirror-image city shifted constantly beneath the choppy water. Sam pointed out the sailboats he’d once mentioned to Dean, back when they were still texting, their masts like a bristling forest stretching out beyond the reach of the terrace lights. Showed him how the metal sunburst-shaped chairs cast long shadows that looked like protection sigils painted on the ground. Thunder rumbled distantly but the storm and the heat never broke, and when they got back to Sam’s house Dean peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt. Sam looked out the window and told Dean to take the first shower. Dean accepted without comment and Sam didn’t take his eyes off his own reflection until he heard the water running.

\---

A whole week passed by, they started on another, and Dean was still there. Still in Madison, still coming to the Dane, still eating dinner with Sam’s housemates, still sleeping in Sam’s bed. And Sam should know better than to let his guard down and assume that anything was easy, that anything meant what it seemed.

On Tuesday afternoon they went to the park to play a game of pickup basketball with some guys Sam knew and ended up on opposite teams. Dean was ruthless, guarding Sam like it was his job, blocking half his shots and crowing with delight when he did; sticking so tight to Sam’s space that it was like having a sweaty, freckled shadow. Sam might have been pissed if it wasn’t so obvious how much fun Dean was having, if he didn’t look so damn happy that Sam caught himself thinking he’d miss every shot if it would keep that smile on Dean’s face. That thought succeeded in pissing him off where Dean’s obnoxious tactics hadn’t and Sam threw himself into the game, netting five shots in a row and pulling his team through for a win. Then it was Dean’s bluster, his trash talk to cover the pride that was oozing off him in buckets, that made Sam want to punch him all over again. He was three inches taller than Dean and had scored almost twice as many times, but when Dean went all gruff, proud big brother on him that was the game; he was twelve years old, chubby and happy and _Sammy_ and awkward as hell.

Back at Sam’s house, talking about going out for dinner or staying in and raiding the leftovers and then going out for drinks, Dean stopped responding in more than irritated grunts and after a minute Sam poked his head out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in his mouth, peering through the door to where Dean was still crouched on the floor in his grimy gym shorts, rooting through his duffel bag in increasing frustration. When all his efforts failed to produce so much as a single clean sock and Sam told him he was out of clothes to lend him, their plan for a night out was abandoned.

The laundromat was packed, and since they’d waited until the last minute they had no real choice but to do one load at a time as machines slowly came available. Not that Sam minded; they passed the time easily enough. Stripped down to their last clean everything – Sam in the stupid Bucky Badger shirt he’d picked up somewhere and novelty Playboy Bunny PJ pants that Dean had once judged to be a hilarious Christmas gift, while Dean himself was unabashed in boxers and an undershirt – they sat on the sorting table playing cards and talking about nothing, just like always.

_Just like always, between hunts._

The thought had startled Sam into looking up, lifting his head and actually taking a long look at his brother. Dean was drumming his fingers against his thigh (Sam was pretty sure his only high card was a Queen) and flicking his eyes between the flop, the cards in his hand, and Sam. He caught Sam looking at him and flashed a lazy grin. _Waiting for me to fold, Sammy? Wait a little longer, then._ Dean raised the bet, Sam matched, they threw down and Dean whooped and swept Sam’s quarters across the table into his own pile. Down the next row a machine dinged and a girl got up to unload it. Dean lifted his eyebrows. _House rules, Sammy._ Sam groaned and picked up a stack of his own quarters. _Loser does the laundry._ He slid off the table to go claim the washer, leaving Dean smirking behind him.

The smell assaulted him as he was shoving their clothes into the machine. Sickly sweet and like he was going to be tasting it on the back of his tongue for days, it wrapped around his heart and tugged him right back to the first night. Dean hadn’t even changed his clothes, Sam realized. Standing in a too-bright laundromat and staring at the back of his brother’s head, Sam was flooded with the painful awareness that Dean had just stripped down to boxers and tee and gone to sleep, smiling and smelling like a stranger, in Sam’s bed.

Swallowing carefully, Sam sorted through the jumble of clothes in his hands— _Mine, Dean’s, mine, mine, Dean’s, mine…I think? Dean’s_ — and there it was. He glanced up to make sure Dean’s back was still turned before he ducked his head to sniff Dean’s button-down, the one he’d been wearing the day he arrived in Madison. There it was, the suggestion of cologne or aftershave or whatever that had followed them to bed that first night. Sam shoved the shirt down into the slowly-filling washer, submerging his whole hand before he let it go, and dropped the lid with a clang, dripping water onto the tile floor.

When he turned back, Dean was shuffling their beat-up pack of diamond backs like it was his job. While Sam watched, he dealt them and reached for his beer, tapping his ring idly against the bottle in time to the tinny overhead music. _Ladies and gentlemen,_ Sam said to himself, _my brother. Never out of place._

Sam watched Dean bridge the cards, studying the flop. He felt stuck to the floor, hands vainly searching out pockets that weren’t there, picking at a stray thread on his stupid pajama pants. Dean looked up at him and Sam said the first thing that came into his head.

“I’m gonna go get us some food.”

Dean gave Sam a once-over that took in his ridiculous outfit but didn’t say anything, just tossed off a smirk and lifted a shoulder in an uncaring shrug while he re-dealt the cards for pyramid solitaire. Sam was almost out the door when Dean called to him, “Hey, Sammy! More beer!” while holding up his empty bottle and making with the eyebrows. Sam rolled his eyes and pushed his way out into the summer night.

The heat seemed even more oppressive now that the sun had gone down and it was just hot, sticky darkness draped like a damp wool blanket over the city. Sam picked up his pace though he was already sweating through his shirt, itching to get back into some A/C. Sometimes on nights like this he and Dean wouldn’t even stop, just drive under the stars with the windows down, outracing the claustrophobic humidity. Weather like this made most people sluggish. Weather like this made Dean restless.

Sam ducked into the little burrito place at the end of the street and shivered in relief as cool air washed over his sticky skin. He ordered to-go and sat hunched in an empty booth while he waited.

In all the time since, Dean had acted like that first night just hadn’t happened. Sam went to school, went to work, came home; Dean went for drives, explored the city, hung out with Sam’s housemates and made friends with some local mechanics when he went looking for a part for his baby, came home. Dean had taken up residence in Sam’s house and Sam’s life with surprising ease. _Never out of place,_ Sam thought again. _Never out of place and nowhere better in the world to be than where he is._

He wondered if that guy, that Jake Base dude, had recognized that about Dean, seen how freaking special he was. Or if Dean had just been convenient. Dean probably wouldn’t have minded either way; Dean was all about convenience, himself. And it had been convenient for him to act as though he’d had never gone outside with a guy on his first night in Sam’s bar, and convenient for Sam to go along with it because, well. What choice did he have, if he wanted Dean to stay? This wasn’t like it was on the road, where Sam was the one liable to up and leave. Who had up and left two, three, four times. Every day that started with Dean’s morning breath in his face and ended with Dean’s elbows in his ribs seemed like a miracle, to Sam; the shine hadn’t even begun to wear off. So he took each day step by step like walking in the dark. This reality check, though, was bringing some things to light. Like the name of the emotion that was crowding his chest now: fear. He was plain terrified to make any sudden movements, literal or proverbial, around Dean, afraid to make any changes, to do anything really, for fear he’d break the spell of the two of them together and at ease with each other.

Sam pulled out his phone and only just stopped himself from reading through their last text message conversation because he remembered how it ended. It was almost two months ago and he could probably recite it verbatim. It was the one where he’d pushed and pushed, daring Dean to keep up, feeling invincible and absolutely certain that if he just kept digging he’d find what he was looking for. Whatever that was. Something to make this whole thing make sense? Acting on his childish impulse that Dean had all the answers. Maybe that Dean himself was the answer. Maybe that’s what Sam had been thinking, when he laid it all out there for him:

_‘You put me on top of the fucking world, Dean.’_   
_‘What about you? What do I do to you?’_   
_‘Dean?’_

_‘God Sam, just let it go ok? Please let it go’_

_‘No. Why? I can't.’_   
_‘Ok. Ok. Sorry.’_

They hadn’t texted for days after that, then days became weeks. They still talked on the phone and nothing was weird about it, everything was normal. Mostly. And Sam had been fine. Really. Missing your brother because you were pining for the not-normal texts he used to send you was stupid, so that was not what Sam did. He’d backed off. He’d done his best to forget about it, let it go, just like Dean had asked him.

Now that he was finally letting himself, he had no idea how he’d managed to keep from thinking about it for almost two weeks and now no matter where his mind traveled, it always turned a corner and Sam was out there in the alley again on that first night. An ethereal smile and elegant hands, a will o’ the wisp enthralling his brother and leading him outside.

_‘You sure know how to make a boy feel special, Dean.’_

_‘Got no experience, Sammy. You’re the only boy I ever wanted to make feel special.’_

_We would have been laughing._ The thought came swift and sharp and he was as sure of it as he’d ever been of anything. _If it had been me, we would have been laughing._ Sam’s imagination filled in the rest of the details as he watched, helpless, unwillingly captivated. Sam was beaming at Dean and Dean was laughing at something he’d just said when Sam took his brother outside to show him the alley, one hand on his elbow, telling him, _And this is where I was that night…_ and _Never could hold your liquor, Sam, I swear…_ and _Sam_ and _Sammy_ and _Dean_ … and the brick wall was rough, snagged at his shirt, was the only thing holding him up until Dean’s hands found his shoulders, his arms, his hips. The light above them flickered and washed Dean’s skin in pale blue and red. His lips glistened when he licked them, and the look in Dean’s eyes felt as real as a memory. Sam took a deep breath and asked, _Is this what you came here for?_

_‘You’re the only boy I ever wanted to make feel special.’_

Sam put his head down and forced a deep, steadying breath through his nose until his eyes stopped burning. It wasn’t right, it was _stupidly_ unfair, that he should find out he was counting on those words only after they’d been taken away from him. Sam wondered if Dean had hesitated at all, if he’d teased. If he’d wondered what Sam would think. If he’d said Jake’s name, moaned it in the dark. Sam wondered if Dean had kissed him. He had, Sam was sure of it. He’d seen the lithe body wrapped around Dean’s solid frame, melting against him, his brother’s face and body so damn beautiful you’d only notice Jake for how he reflected Dean. Dean.

“Sam! Order for Sam.”

Sam startled, jumped up to collect his food, and left the restaurant. He went next door to the liquor store, spent two minutes debating between brands before just grabbing a case of Capital Amber because he wasn’t in the mood to send Dean subliminal messages via the beer he chose – or rather, that was exactly the mood he was in, and he wasn’t going to give into it, dammit – and when he pushed his way back into the laundromat it was to find Dean on the phone with someone, he thought maybe Bobby, oblivious to Sam and the rest of the world. Sam checked their various machines before he cracked a beer, unwrapped a burrito and sat down to listen to Dean arguing on the phone.

\---

Turned out Dean had been talking to Rufus.

“Yeah, Rufus, you remember, Bobby’s friend,” Dean said, pulling out of the parking lot and guiding them back towards Sam’s house, duffels full of clean clothes on the back seat. “I worked a couple jobs for him earlier this year.”

Sam only nodded and turned to look out the window. Watching the street lights flare and fade he had the thought that all roads that night seemed to lead back to the weird non-space between his phone and Dean’s because now, without wanting to, Sam was remembering that time in January, right after he’d left for school, when Dean had texted him in the middle of the night just to have Sam keep him company while he worked a stakeout for Rufus that had him lurking outside some guy’s window. Sam had woken to the noise of his phone in a blind panic, the realization of just how far away Dean was washing over him in waves that didn’t give him time to draw breath for several long minutes. Dean could be anywhere, could be dying, and Sam was too far away to do anything about it. That panicked reaction had only happened once, thank God.

“Man, I’m telling you,” Dean’s voice had risen back there, still arguing with Rufus in the laundromat. “There’s no way. If, and that is a big freaking if, my dad knew anything about that, he never…No. I know that journal back to front and – Sammy, back me up. Nothing about any Okami in Dad’s journal, am I right?”

Sam had looked up at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head. “No bells are ringing.”

“My geek brother says no. Whoever fed you that line was wrong.”

The familiar language of their lives had lulled Sam a little, eased something in him, and the next time Dean paced by, Sam held out a cold beer and Dean took it, clamping his phone against his shoulder to open it and clap Sam on the back. His head had tipped back to take a long gulp and Sam saw the line of his throat in the flickering neon light outside the Dane. But Dean was here now, grumpy and gorgeous, and Sam made himself leave that stupid dark alley with its inconstant light, forced himself to walk away without looking back and without asking the question. Dean was here, and Sam didn’t need to ask why.

It hurt, it hurt like hell, but Sam shoved it down deep as he skittered around the laundromat, collecting their clothes, not dwelling. He shoved it down because he had no goddamn right to feel so fucked up over this. No, not fucked up — fucked over. Standing by a machine, poised to drop the coins for their last load, his vision blurred out for a moment when he couldn’t fight against the tide anymore, and half-heard words and promises that belonged to some other version of his world danced in front of his eyes.

“I swear to God, if one more person calls to ask me about this freaking thing--” Dean broke off to smack Sam’s thigh with the back of his hand. “Sammy, you with me?”

Sam’s chin came up, startled to find they were more than halfway home from the laundromat, and he glared at Dean. “Ow.”

Dean looked over at him. “Okay, princess, what’s with you?”

“What? Nothing.” Sam rubbed his forehead. “I’m tired. And I just did all our laundry, if you didn’t notice.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want, a freaking medal?”

Sam smiled, trying to shake himself back to the present. Driving in the dark with Dean. “That’d be nice. What would it say, ‘World’s Greatest Brother’?”

“Nah, that one’s already taken,” Dean winked at him. “How 'bout ’Number One Laundress’?” Sam punched him and Dean laughed.

Sam broke the silence a minute later. “So, Okami, huh? Thought they were only in Japan?”

“Yeah, well, maybe one hitched a ride to AnimeCon and decided to stick around.”

Sam blinked at Dean and shook his head, deciding he didn’t want to know. “Do they know how to kill it, at least?”

“They’re not even sure that’s what it is, they’re trying to narrow down the signs. But yeah, Bobby knows. Or. Whatever. He’s working on it, anyway.”

“Huh.” He’d seen a book of Shinto lore in one of Bobby’s rooms sometime last year. It was tucked out of the way and kind of moldy and he wondered if Bobby even remembered he had it, figured he’d call him to talk it through when they got home, ask about his research.

Dean looked over at Sam, watching him for a long moment at a stop sign, eyes steady on Sam’s as though he knew where Sam’s mind was, _research_ and _home_ in the same thought.

“Anyway,” Dean said, shifting his eyes back to the road. “Rufus is like a dog with a bone that Dad knew something about them and now he’s on my ass about it. But he knows I’m not available right now.”

Sam hummed and nodded, then froze up. He shot a glance at Dean then looked down at his hands. _Wait_ , he wanted to ask. _You're not?_

And wasn't that just like Dean, to let him know something so pivotal so late in the game. Sam picked at a hangnail and tried not to let his face make any kind of expression when he looked up at his brother, wanting to watch him without being seen but, of course, that wasn't how it worked. Dean caught his eye and held his gaze for a good few heartbeats. Maybe he was too caught up in not giving anything away (without knowing what it was he might have surrendered if he'd let himself) but he couldn’t read the look on Dean's face. And that was okay. He'd had enough for one day, thanks. For a whole freaking lifetime, maybe. He didn't think he could handle tacking on one more thing to the list of things he was alternately pondering and ignoring, so he only nodded, told Dean, “Okay,” and let it go at that.

Because Sam knew what he wanted. He knew what it was, now, knew it had a name though he didn’t let himself say it, just tucked it away for safekeeping. Folded it into the back of his mind along with all the other things he knew but wouldn’t dwell on. _Demon blood, chosen one, the visions, Mom and Dad and Jess and – Dean._

But Dean wasn't going anywhere, apparently. Dean was serious about this. So. Sam would put the rest of it away. He’d accept that it was a thing, that it was a part of him, but it wouldn’t define him. Because long experience had taught Sam that try as he might, he couldn’t control what he was; some decisions were out of his hands. But his actions, his thoughts, they were his own. So this was just one more thing he’d deal with and judge himself by his actions, not his impulses.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_June, 2008, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

Sunday morning rolled in—Dean’s second Sunday in Madison, Sam couldn’t help but mark on some invisible calendar—already hot in Sam’s room before the sun burned away the morning fog, and the only thing that could tempt a lazy-ass brother out of bed was the promise of the best coffee and pastry in the city. Crowded into a corner of the table farthest from the door (not that that was very far), sharing with a family of five (the fifth being a very noisy baby), Sam split his time between sipping his coffee and watching Dean lose himself in the morning paper.

 _You can take a hunter off the hunt…_ he thought, smiling slightly when Dean narrowed his eyes, squinting down at something in the classifieds. A minute later Dean let out a soft laugh and shook his head, turned the page and scanned the obits, then rifled through the remaining sections until he found the funnies. Making room between his plate and Sam’s he laid out the page so they could both read while eating their truly excellent breakfast. 

Sophia’s Cafe was Sam’s favorite discovery in the realm of quirky breakfast nooks in a city that seemed, at times, to be comprised of nothing else. The whole place was smaller than most motel rooms they’d stayed in and consisted only of three large tables and a counter that stretched the length of the street-facing picture window. No one ate alone at Sophia’s, and as often as you ended up sharing a table with someone you’d run into somewhere else in this postage stamp of a big city, you wound up seated beside a total stranger you’d never thought you could have chatted with over a danish and coffee and the organic/fresh/local scramble of the day.

But with Dean bumping elbows with him, Sam didn’t feel particularly inclined to pay any attention to the other people around their table. They read the comics together, laughed at the same punch lines without needing to point them out to each other, and sighed when they reached the end, reaching for their empty mugs. Sam jumped up to refill them, and when he returned, Dean was on his phone again. Since Rufus called on Tuesday Dean’s phone had been ringing a couple times a day, and each time he answered Dean was quick to catch Sam’s eyes and shake his head. Not going anywhere.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay,” he was saying, and Sam pushed his mug over to him, raising his eyebrows. Dean mouthed, Gwen, and slid his eyes away from Sam’s, saying aloud, “It’s a solid day’s drive for me from here, even if I leave now there’s no way I can be there before…” he consulted his watch and scratched the back of his neck. “Midnight. Yeah, fine, put him on.”

“What’s up?” Sam asked, casual as he could, as Dean switched the phone to his other ear.

“Bobby has some reason to think Dad had this artifact thing in his lock-up, they want me to check it out.”

Sam frowned. “Why not just give them the key, they can go themselves?”

Dean’s frown said _What are you, nuts?_ plainer than if he’d spoken the words, which he didn’t because he was already talking to Bobby, making plans to meet up there and go through the jumble of John’s storage locker, like they’d been meaning to ever since they found out about the place. He hung up after a couple minutes and took a long pull of his coffee, exhaling on a deep, satisfied sigh and mumbling something about no wonder Sammy liked it here, the java was like nectar of the freakin’ gods. Sam was looking down into his own cup with his hands folded around it, and didn’t respond until Dean kicked him under the table.

“Sleeping Beauty, you awake over there?”

Sam stiffened, then forced his hands to uncurl and his shoulders to relax, pulling a smile onto his face before he looked up. Dean was looking at him, that guarded look he used to wear when watching Sam, waiting for him to go off the deep end, Dad’s final orders never far from his mind.

Not quite, though. There was worry there, sure, a bit, that was practically Dean’s default expression when it came to Sam. But more like…guilt? Apprehension? And Sam wondered what his own face had looked like, in that moment before he’d pulled it together. It was just that, every time Dean said something out loud that edged close to acknowledging the thing that had existed for a few short months only in the indefinable space between his phone and Dean’s…

Without meaning to do it, Sam dropped a hand to rest on his thigh, fingertips dragging along the hard outline of the phone in his front pocket. It had been nearly silent since Dean arrived, and when it did ping an incoming text, the shiver of excitement that zinged through him turned too-quickly into embarrassment and he’d taken to silencing it entirely after a couple days of tilting at windmills. 

The night they did laundry, that same night he’d vowed he was done thinking about any of it, Sam woke to Dean pressed up against him, one leg on top of Sam’s, and the slide of their sweat-slick thighs as Sam shifted had been enough to send him bolting for the bathroom where he took a shower and jerked off without thinking about anything and then sat for over an hour reading through the back and forth of their text conversations over the months since he’d left the life and gone back to school. They read, depending on how he squinted, like really awesome sitcom banter or like the dialogue of a truly terrible softcore porno. And since then Sam had been surreptitiously searching his brother’s face, trying hard not to imagine any of the things he’d texted him spoken aloud in Dean’s own voice.

Sam blinked and realized they’d been staring at each other for who knew how long. Dean kicked him lightly under the table and Sam reached over, trying to punch him, but Dean caught his fist and twisted his arm, nearly spilling their coffees and causing the baby across the table to wail in loud distress. 

They both flinched, guilty, and shrank back into their seats. Glaring at Dean and rubbing his shoulder where it twinged, Sam asked, “So anyway, what’s going on, you’re heading out?”

“Looks like,” Dean said, draining his coffee and standing up. Sam followed suit and they made for the door, blinking in the bright June morning. “It’s what, about fifteen hours to upstate from here? I’ll head out now, catch a couple hours sleep in the morning and be back tomorrow night.”

“That’s a long drive two days in a row.” Dean didn’t respond and Sam shoved his hands down into his pockets. They walked in silence to the end of the block and stopped to wait for traffic. “Want me to come with?”

Dean squinted up at him. “Dude, you have class.”

Sam’s eyebrows felt like they were going to dance up off his forehead. “So?”

Dean rolled his eyes and took Sam by the elbow when he didn’t notice the light had changed. “So I think I can handle a simple drive by myself, Einstein. You go do your book thing and I’ll be back before bedtime to tuck you in.”

Sam snorted to hide the small thrill of that simple word, bedtime, and let Dean pull him across the street. The rest of the walk back he spent questioning Dean about what Gwen and Bobby had said, what they knew about this Okami thing and how the stake or knife or whatever was going to help them kill it. When they got to Sam’s house, the Impala in its place out front, they paused beside it, shoulder to shoulder and hands in their pockets. Sam was looking at the car, Dean gazing up at the house. 

“Dean,” Sam said after a minute, shifting his weight. “If there’s a hunt, and something of Dad’s is the key to taking it out, don’t you think—“

“Sam,” Dean said, dragging his eyes down from the window of Sam’s bedroom to Sam’s face. “Let’s not.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to go into some hero thing about how we should be in on the hunt. The answer’s no, dude. You stay here, you do your thing. And anyway, they didn’t ask for my help on this, they’ve got it. Well, they need the thing and then they’ve got it. So I’ll help them get it, and then I’m coming home. Okay?”

Sam’s smile leapt to his face without his permission and he turned away, looked down the street, pulled on a thoughtful frown instead and nodded. “Okay.”

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, stalking around to the driver’s side and throwing Sam a look he couldn’t interpret before yanking open the door and sliding in.

Sam put his hand on the open window, ducking his head to say, “Drive safe. Say hi to those guys for me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean grumbled, then flashed him a grin, shook his head, and peeled away from the curb.

Sam stood in the middle of the street with his hands in his pockets, watching until he turned the corner and vanished. He stared into the middle distance for a few long moments before turning and walking back towards his house. By the time he opened the door he could feel something like a hopeful spring in his step. _Dean is coming back._ That single thought was enough. The certainty of the fact made Sam's chest swell with sudden appreciation for the time alone he'd have between then and now. His space was precious to him, and time to think and recharge and just be himself—not that he wasn't himself when Dean was around, Dean was pretty much the only person on Earth who counted as both company and comfort—was invaluable. And while he wasn't actually behind with his coursework it'd be nice to—

“Hey, Sam!”

Ahmed’s voice interrupted Sam's thoughts and made him pause mid-step. He backed up to stand in the living room doorway where he saw Ahmed lounging on the couch, half-raised up on his elbow and looking over Sam’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Sam asked after a second.

Ahmed frowned. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam huffed a soft laugh and looked away. “Went out for a bit, getting…ah…I dunno, doing some stuff. Why?”

“Is he still looking for a place to live?”

Sam blinked. “Um…yeah, I guess so. Why?”

“My cousin has this two-bedroom house over near the hospital where he works, off Park street, kinda near the zoo, you know?”

Sam didn’t know but he nodded anyway.

“Yeah, it’s a good neighborhood, and it’s a nice place, he’s fixed it up and stuff.”

Sam felt himself stiffen up, his eyes narrowing and his hands finding his pockets again. Classic defense formation. He rocked back on his heels and accepted the wave of cold reality that rolled over him. He'd learned nothing if not how to handle the fact that wishing for something was as likely to bring in its dark double as the thing he actually desired. If he couldn't stand a good dousing now and then, he wouldn't have survived this long. Dean was coming back, yeah, but Dean wasn't Sam's to keep.

“Sounds nice," Sam nodded, forcing a smile. "And he’s looking for a roommate?”

“Yeah. He had someone all lined up but they flaked out so he’s kind of desperate. He said he’d take someone without even a security deposit if they could move in soon, and won’t ask about references or anything since I already know the guy.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at that. Barely two weeks and he already _knew the guy._ Well, that was Dean for you; when you bonded over cars and booze nothing else needed to be said. 

“Thanks, Ahmed, I’ll let him know.”

Ahmed gave him a thumbs-up and lay back down on the couch, reaching for the TV remote. Sam nodded again and escaped up the stairs.

\---

_Sunday night_

[Dean]  
Hey Sammy, you know what would be cool? Jedi texting, you like hit the keys with your mind and the words just appear on the screen

[Sam]  
If we're going that route, why not just go all the way. Telepathy, man. It would save so much time and confusion. 

[Dean]  
Dude, I KNEW you were gonna say that. Like, I hit send and I thought it. Maybe we're doing the telepathy thing already! Hey Sam? Can you tell what I'm thinking?

[Sam]  
Yeah, actually. You're thinking “Where am I and where did all the whiskey go?”

Oh, and you're also thinking, "Man, I hope my awesome brother doesn't mind that I left my dirty socks in the bed. Again."

[Dean]  
I'll give you points on some of those

[Sam]  
I mean, seriously, if you're just going to pull them off in the middle of the night, why wear socks to bed in the first place? I don't get it. 

Dude. I am a Jedi master and you know it. 

[Dean]  
Because my feet were cold when I went to bed, ok? Then they got warm and I kicked the socks off. Simple, dude

And they were clean

[Sam]  
Were not. I can smell them from here. 

[Dean]  
You’re so not a Jedi master. You're still in training, know the difference

[Sam]  
Of the two of us, which one had psychic visions of the future? Oh yeah, that was me. 

Dean  
That's probably your socks then, mine were daisy fresh

Yeah, too bad these sock events took place in the past, psychic boy

And you don't have them anymore, so no Jedi, just some hot psychic wonder like the rest of them

[Sam]  
I know where the whiskey went, down your stupid throat. Though I don’t need to be psychic to know that.

I’m guessing you made it to New York all right.

[Dean]  
No I crashed halfway there and my ghost learned to text, what do you think?

Yeah, I’m holed up with Rufus and the rest of them in this stupid backwoods shack with no toilet. Working on strategizing for their hunt

But I’m leaving in the morning

[Sam]  
If they need you you should stay.

I’m serious.

[Dean]  
Nah, the thing isn’t due back til the new moon next month. Might help Christian out with some car stuff tomorrow but otherwise I’m done here

[Sam]  
Okay then. Night.

[Dean]  
Night Sammy. Don’t miss me too much

[Sam]  
Are you kidding, I have the bed to myself, I’m gonna sleep like a baby.

[Dean]  
A baby giraffe maybe. Dude do you even realize how ginormous you are?

[Sam]  
I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of how soft and comfortable my bed is. Enjoy that shack.

[Dean]  
Enjoy your beauty sleep, princess

[Sam]  
You know I will.

\---

_Monday morning_

[Sam]  
Hey, are you on your way back now?

How did you sleep? I slept like a baby.

[Dean]  
I’ll bet you did

Actually I think we’re all gonna caravan back to Cleveland where Rufus knows a guy with a shop who won’t question runes carved into the transmission. Christian’s truck is fucked up beyond even my Jedi skills to repair, like to the point of probably blowing up before we even get to Ohio. I don’t feel right leaving them to try and drive there without backup.

[Sam]  
Shit, that sucks. Well, be careful.

[Dean]  
I’m not the one driving in the hexed truck, but yeah, I will.

[Sam]  
See you tonight?

[Dean]  
I’ll let you know

\---

_Monday night_

[Sam]   
Hey, so you think you’re gonna make it home tonight?

[Dean]  
Why? Socks not enough and you miss me already? 

What you been up to anyway? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages

[Sam]  
Only six hours. And nothing much. Just sitting around pining, obviously. 

[Dean]  
See, not that hard to admit

[Sam]  
Yeah, I guess gross socks just get me in the mood. 

So are you going to be back tonight or not?

[Dean]  
Ain’t feeling so good. Ended up lending a hand to Christian and Gwen with the truck, took off later than I thought after a few beers and some crazy moonshine that dude had in his garage. My head was getting real heavy though so I figured much as I wanted to get back I shouldn't be driving. Man, I'm getting old

And lame. Must be being close to you, it's catching

[Sam]  
How embarassing. Find a place to crash?

[Dean]  
Screw you

Yeah. It's not too bad. Got a room with a king, I'm so gonna sprawl tonight

[Sam]  
Be nice to me, I'm about to do your laundry. Again.

[Dean]  
Be nice to me, I'm your awesome big brother

Thanks Sammy

[Sam]  
You say that often enough it just might come true. 

Bed feels huge without you in it, was hoping you’d be back tonight. You doing okay?

[Dean]  
I’m lying down, TV on mute, cuz it’s making my head spin. Wanted to call you but I’m not feeling too good right now

Sammy you sure know how to make a guy's head feel lighter 

You say that to all the guys

[Sam]  
Oh yeah, you caught me. Now you've seen how I basically have a revolving door on my bedroom for "all the guys." 

Don't be stupid, Dean. You're the only guy in my bed. 

[Dean]  
You were rolling your eyes, weren't you?

Don't get snarky, man's gotta check he's not gonna find his warm place taken while he's gone

[Sam]  
If I was being snarky it doesn't make it less true. I'm all alone and lonely and keeping your spot warm for you.

[Dean, after a few minutes.]  
Sammy confession time. I like it that you're alone

[Sam]  
If we're playing that game, I'm glad you are too.

You are, right?

[Dean]  
Yeah, I am

Didn't want anyone else in my bed

Man I should have driven back

[Sam]  
No way man, if you're drunk enough that you don't want anyone else in your bed you're too drunk to drive. I'm glad you stayed. Anyway after a week of me kicking you, you deserve a night to sprawl in your own bed.

[Dean]  
That wasn't what I meant. I can be drunk as skunk and still have someone in bed with me

And I'm gonna sprawl alright. It'll still feel weird without your stupid legs and arms everywhere

[Sam]  
Hey you show up without warning you can deal with my arms and legs in my bed, ok? And don't act like you don't take up as much space as I do, I woke up with you half on top of me the other night.

[Dean]  
God you're so dumb sometimes, you dumbass. Not helping my heavy head, dude

[Sam]  
Aw don't feel bad, D. I liked it.

[Dean, after two minutes]  
I like your giant arms and legs, ok?? I didn't wanna have anyone else's arms and legs here in my bed, couldn't stand it. Man, I don't even know how I managed to go for months without your annoying freaking everything right next to me

[Sam]  
Yeah, I know, me too, okay? Let's never do that again.

Dammit, Dean, I was going out of my mind before you showed up, you have no idea.

[Dean]  
You were?

Don't answer that, ok. Head's killing me, dude, just gimme some sugar, can't do this now

[Sam]  
Yeah I was. It's like I don't know how to deal without you. I don't want to. I did some stupid shit, just missing you like crazy.

[Dean]  
What did you do?

[Sam]  
Nothing. Just, stuff that looks better on you than me. Forget I said anything. 

[Dean]  
That could be pretty much anything. You wanna tell me?

[Sam]  
Not really. But then you'll just come up with you own disaster stories that are probably worse than the truth. Just, I was drinking way too much too often, got in a few fights. There's an awesome bar I really wish I could take you to, but I'm not allowed back in. I got caught hooking up with the bartender in the back room. Stupid shit. 

[Dean]  
That's my boy!

[Sam]  
No, that's the problem, it's really not me. It started after we had that crazy fight. I freaked out and couldn't figure out how to straighten myself out. 

[Dean]  
Ok, first, why would you do that? Dude, I don't even remember that fight. We fight all the time, stupid stuff, big stuff, don't matter. Ok? You're my brother and we'll always figure it out. And people do stupid shit all the time. It's called living. As long as you don't get yourself or someone else in real trouble it's fine, Sammy. I swear, you're such a drama queen

If you were here now you were so gonna give me a foot rub after making me have this conversation when my head’s a mess. 

Make that a head rub

[Sam]  
Don't say you don't remember it, I know we fight all the time but that was the worst, Dean. You had to talk me out of the gutter two days later. I know you say I push your buttons but do you even realize what you do to me? 

I'm sorry, Dean, forget about it. Just go to sleep, feel better. 

[Dean]  
You know what, suit yourself. You wanna angst, knock yourself out. There's no stopping you obviously, no matter what I say

[Sam]  
Fine, whatever. But I'm not “angsting,” for the record. Not that you'll believe me. I'll see you when you get back. 

[Dean]  
Yeah whatever. But you can't expect me to just flip a switch and forget about it, and what, like I'm just gonna roll over and sleep like a baby now? It's not how it works, Sam.

[Sam]  
See this is what always happens suddenly we're pissy and I have no idea why. Maybe you should have driven back tonight. 

[Dean]  
No, you're pissy, I was just missing your stupid ANGSTY face and wanted to talk to you. I don't even know what sets you off anymore, man. Like, my head's killing me and maybe I'm missing something but I just don't get it. And whatever buttons I'm pushing, I'm sorry, ok? We gotta work through this now we're back together, we can't fight like that

[Sam, after five minutes]  
I should have said thanks for what you said, that nothing's gonna change the fact that we'll always work things out. I know it's true. I get caught up in stupid details and miss the big picture. Or vice versa. When you're not around, especially. 

Sorry about your head. Maybe the front desk has some aspirin? I wish I was there with you. 

Goddamn, I wish I was there. 

[Dean]  
Yeah me too

I was totally gonna make you go cute nurse on me

[Sam]  
It's only been what, two weeks, and you're already spoiled rotten. Dunno where you get the idea I want to be your housewife. 

[Dean]  
Don't know what you're talking about. You wash my socks once, ok TWICE, and that's spoiled? You and me have very different ideas of what that means

[Sam]  
Seriously you should go ask for some painkillers and drink some water, it'll help. 

[Dean, after five minutes.]  
Yeah, just got back from outside, I found some of Bobby’s leftover magic pills in the trunk. I wouldn't be talking to you otherwise. And doctors on TV aren't all business like you, just saying

Besides, I don't want a housewife, just some lovin 

[Sam]  
I can do that. 

[Dean]  
Yeah? You'd make my headache go away?

[Sam]  
Sorry I'm not Dr. Sexy. I can work on it, if that's what you want.

[Dean]  
I don't know who that is, I'm not watching it. Don't want you to be like anyone else, not you, not ever

[Sam]  
I would do anything for you. Anything you needed. 

[Dean]  
Just hearing you promise so sweet is making me loosen up

[Sam]  
Good. And you’d better know it's true. Anything, Dean. Anytime. 

[Dean]  
God I just know you'd take care of me so good baby boy, I want you here so bad

[Sam]  
Me too. Because I would. I'd take care of you. Keep you warm all night and wouldn't even complain about your stupid icicle feet. 

Miss you too Dean, so damn much, dunno how I'm gonna sleep without you

[Dean]  
Slipping here Sammy, man I love painkillers. And autocorrect

Miss you baby boy, wish you were here

My feet are awesome your bodys so hot want you here

[Sam]  
Good night Dean. I'll see you tomorrow. 

[Dean]  
see you on the flip side Sammy


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Tuesday morning (June, 2008),_ _Cleveland, OH_

_Dean_

Nighttime was a fucking menace, screwing with your perceptions. It moved like a giant magnifying glass over the world and presented distorted images that made you respond to them in the same weird, hyperemotional way. No wonder vamps were kind of dramatic.

Dean had let things go too far in his text exchange with Sam last night. His sorry brain had been frazzled by a debilitating headache, and the alcohol before that hadn’t helped. Then there was the other thing: after spending days in a row with a brain soaked in whatever trippy hormones it produced as a result of Sam’s nearness, Dean’s capacity to think straight was further diminished by severe Sam-withdrawal. Missing his brother had felt like a physical constraint on Dean’s entire body. It would have made him restless and jumpy if his head hadn’t been hurting so damn much.

Then Sam had kicked up one of his pissy fits, followed by Dean taking some painkillers that made him dopey to say the least. Worst part was, he’d felt so damn relieved to feel the pain abate and so free to be back in their twilight zone of texting intimacy that his fingers had flown over the keys on his cell as if they were composing Dean’s favorite tune. Even before he’d crashed in the motel he’d been feeling like a bit of a loose cannon, thanks to the change—it had felt good, being on the road, talking about stuff that he understood. Dean’s senses were sharpened differently than how they were because of Sam. The discovery that followed seemed stupid not to have been made earlier. Trailing after Sammy in Sammy’s world for two weeks, without having anything to do himself, hadn’t been such a sweet deal for Dean after all. He’d felt invigorated as he’d started driving back to Madison.

It lasted only for a while. The scales had tipped to the other side and he’d felt tired, too, suddenly. He was pretty sure lingering to help the Campbells wasn’t the source of it, but he didn’t care to find out what it was. In the end all that mattered was that he’d ended up feeling like a real mess at that motel, so he probably should be thankful that his inhibitions hadn’t been lowered further, making him tell Sam things that he couldn’t talk his way out of if he had to.

He woke up around eight in the morning, which alone would have accounted for his head feeling like a large watermelon—sleeping nearly eight hours was practically half his weekly dose in one night. He was lying on his stomach, and there was something digging into his ribcage on the left, right under his heart. Dean unearthed the offensive object only to gaze at it, bleary eyed and dumb, trying to decide whether the irony was fit for frowns or laughs. His cell phone. Who needed soft toys or comfort blankets?

He didn’t remember all the details of the exchange, just its tone, the way you didn’t remember your crush’s exact features, just knew they made your stomach clench so good. This time the flip in Dean’s gut was followed by an instant drop. No matter what crazy alleyways Dean’s fantasies might have frequented on moonless nights, in bright daylight the fact that the other person who had joined him in his nocturnal dwellings was Dean’s brother had risen to the top of the list of epic shit to consider. Dean had long stopped pretending that this was some kind of fucked up itch that needed to be scratched. That ship had sailed before Dean himself boarded the metaphorical one that took him to Madison. In the days he’d spent at Sam’s, he’d vacillated continuously, his desire for Sam mingling with bone-deep contentment at having his companion back. Dean was frankly amazed that he’d taken to sleeping right next to Sam the way he did, namely that he’d managed not to attempt to molest his brother in his sleep. Sam was a flesh and blood sculpture of gorgeousness, begging to be worshipped, yet a lifetime of living in each other’s pockets seemed to count for something after all, taking the edge off for Dean. It was aided by the permanent horror that all could be lost in one second, thanks to one touch that wasn’t like any other.

So Dean had basked in Sam’s warmth and might have tried to climb onto him in his sleep but even unconscious, his body had been a puppet to its masters: repression and restraint. Dean didn’t even know how it all worked in the jumble that was his head—he only knew that it did, in that it had kept him from doing something irretrivable, while also allowing him more than a modicum of happiness due to Sam’s nearness. What should have been agony was just pain occasionally looping into pleasure: Sam’s sleeping face and his bare neck came to mind. Dean couldn’t ask for more.

He’d honestly thought they had settled into their old dynamics. If once or twice their eyes had stayed locked a beat longer, their intent confusing and threatening explosion, it wasn’t such an unfamiliar thing. Those instances were promptly shoved aside anyway just as anything else that made ticking noises. The first day had set the tone. Dean had kicked off his return to Sam’s life by having a quickie in a back alley with a porn star. As far as grand entrances went this one had it all, all the more that the porn star was also a guy. It hadn’t been half as weird as Dean would have expected, on his and Sam’s part. Come to think of it, there had been no fallout. Sam had asked a couple of questions, all mindful-like, but he’d never followed them up with any comments—something that since then had blossomed into full disappointment for Dean. For his part Dean hadn’t started waking up with the urge to have random good-looking guys blow him and found his interest in chasing female tail completely unaffected, but the last was in an academic sort of way. He didn’t want women, either.

He wanted Sam.

He had given pondering whether Sam might want him back a wide berth. There was no point in sticking your hand into a beehive on the off chance that you might enjoy a lick of honey before you died, a wheezing, ballooned up, stung-all-over mess. (Dean didn’t need to possess great psychological astuteness to know that this kind of fate was the default one for guys who were gay for their brother.) But reading through their first text exchange in over two months—reading through it with the attitude of a person waiting for the guillotine to drop—he discovered yet again that whichever way you looked at it Sam was definitely roaming the twilight zone with him.

It was different though. In broad daylight a read-through made it impossible to say whether Sam was reciprocating Dean’s messed up urges for him. Sam would always be his _little_ brother. The ways he echoed Dean, the ways he mirrored him without even realizing it… Hell, the places Sam had followed him to—they were all hard to ignore. Dean stared at Sam’s words on the screen, feeling them swim too close to distinguish, then lurching too far back to even see. All he could say for sure at the end was that Sam sounded like someone who cared about his brother a lot and wanted to keep him close.

Dean, on the other hand, sounded like a lovesick banshee.

He deleted all the messages and put the phone on the bedside table, display down. Twenty minutes later he was heading out of town, foot steady on the gas, the speed and even motion calming his claustrophobic insides. Ironically, he wasn’t running away. He was driving toward Madison, but it still felt like an escape. They’d been doing so well. If Dean could get there quickly he could look Sam in the eye, see that they still were. The faster he drove, the sooner he could hear Sam not talking about it and the sooner their exchange could be archived in that special secret folder they kept in that invisible realm between them.

It was a five-hour drive—ample time to establish one thing. Going to bed with Sam again after what was said on the topic would have been the equivalent of printing their messages and wallpapering the freaking bedroom with them. Dean had to move out for his own sanity. It would also show Sam things didn’t have to change between them. They were still brothers, Dean was still sticking around, and Sam was still having his fresh start out of the life.

Maybe, just maybe, it meant something else didn’t have to change, either: the door to texting again one day remained open. Dean was a reasonable guy, not a saint. Cold turkey was a bitch.

\---

In another display of irony, Sam came home from class exactly as Dean was stuffing his freshly laundered socks into his bag.

“Hey,” Sam said, face turning puppy-like excited. “You’re back.”

“Hey, Captain Obvious,” Dean retorted, slipping in a joke with ease that only a minute ago he wouldn’t have thought possible. Funny how just by being present Sammy had the power to make everything ten times more complicated and ten times easier all at once.

Sam’s gaze fell on Dean’s hands and his body lost its aerodynamic vibe. He stopped a couple of steps into the room. “You’re taking off somewhere again?”

“Yeah.” Dean forced his voice to sound casual. He flicked his eyes up to Sam’s face, then dropped them to his bag again. It was as if a magnet was pulling them down.

“Where?” Sam’s voice was neutral; the same brand as Dean’s casual.

“Where do you think? I was supposed to crash here only for a couple of nights, remember?”

Sam said nothing and didn’t come further into the room, either. Dean kept pushing things into his bag mindlessly, both dying to look up to Sam’s face, and dreading it. He couldn’t for the life of him get why he was feeling like such shit all of a sudden. Guilty too, for side orders. This was fixing things. They both _had_ to be getting that, right? Dean now even had evidence of where Sam stood on the board.

“You found a place?” Sam asked, moving at last and coming to stand next to Dean.

“Well, you kind of did,” Dean told him, lifting his gaze at Sam’s, “What?”

“I saw Ahmed earlier and he told me about that place his friend is subletting. You two talked about it?”

It had been the final push to solidify Dean’s trust that his decision was for the best. If Sam was discussing places where Dean could move to it had to be because Sam, too, thought Dean _should_ move out.

Sam was looking at Dean’s bag like he’d forgotten Dean was even there.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, ah…Yeah, we did.” Sam sounded distracted, subdued. In his peripheral vision Dean saw him run his hand through his hair; the motion made the air shift and brought in wafts of Sam’s smells: detergent, shampoo, deodorant, dampness from his sweat, and skin, the scent of which Dean had now reacquainted himself with intimately, what with having had his nose in the vicinity of maddening stretches of it night after night.

He swallowed, grabbed a t-shirt and stuffed it in his bag.

“That’s…that’s mine,” Sam said, making an aborted gesture with his hand as if he was going to touch Dean’s thieving one.

Dean froze for a moment, then took out the t-shirt slowly. It was Sam’s, the one he’d slept in. It was rightfully on the bed. It was Sam’s bed after all, where else would it be?

“Thank god you saved me from it, then,” Dean told him, lips quirking. He hoped the quirk didn’t turn into a quiver, because the way Sam was looking at him, _Jesus wept_. There was no defining half of Sam’s looks, no matter that Sam teased Dean he had names for all of them—they were too complex, concocted on some nuclear level which Dean just didn’t have the equipment to access. He only knew half of them by how they made him feel. In this case, not so good.

Irritation flared in him. He closed his bag abruptly and hauled it off the bed, then looked up to find Sam following it with his gaze. “What, you wanna inspect the rest of my stuff?” Dean shot.

Sam’s gaze jumped to Dean’s face. “What? No. Dude, we wear each other’s stuff all the time.”

The stupid bag weighed a ton. Dean couldn’t wait to get out of here, throw it in the back seat and just drive to that fucking hole he was going to be stuck in for the foreseeable future.

“All right,” he said, walking around Sam and throwing over his shoulder, “I’ll give you a call if it doesn’t work out.” He felt a lurch of intense discomfort at the thought of having to crawl back here after this little parting scene now, and that was all he needed to know on how he was doing on the guilt front.

He stopped and turned to look at Sam, almost flinching. Sam and his fucking eyes. 'The bane of Dean’s existence' was fucking weak.

“You might have to put up with my delightful presence for a few more days,” Dean told him, trying for a lopsided grin again.

“Anytime,” Sam said quietly.

Dean just watched him in silence for a few seconds, mind empty, then nodded.

“Call me either way,” Sam said, and Dean left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our next update will be tomorrow, Sunday.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Two days later, (June, 2008)  
Madison, WI_

[Sam]  
Hey Dean, you know what would be cooler than Jedi texting? Full on transporter beams. Like, i'm sitting here thinking how I wanna come check out your place and have a beer or something, but I'm way too lazy to make that happen. 

[Dean]  
Yeah, but how are we gonna know what we really want? I mean you gotta make an effort. Everything's sweeter that way

[Sam]  
Man, I'm not sure if you're channeling Yoda or Spock but either way that attitude is way too mature and healthy, I'm a little concerned. 

[Dean]  
Hey Sammy? Screw you!

[Sam]  
Ha ha there he is! That's my brother.

But wouldn't you like it if I could just beam straight into your living room with like a case of beer, and no effort?

[Dean]  
I want you here, I want the beer but I wanna see you lift your lazy ass off wherever you've parked it and make an effort, dude

That talk about teleportation is insulting to my car

[Sam]  
If you wanted me to come over you should have said before I had a beer and went to bed. Man, I'm old. 

[Dean]  
It's embarrassing, dude!

And what, I need to tell you that kind of thing now? 

[Sam]  
You know, you didn't have to kick yourself out, you would have been welcome to stay here longer. 

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
I didn't kick myself out. Couldn't take your giant arms and legs trying to squash the life outta me anymore

[A minute later.]  
You need your space and look at me, I'm so mature, right?

It was better that way.

[Sam]  
Okay, if you say so. I was kinda getting used to it. 

I bet your bed’s not as comfortable as mine. 

[Dean]  
Yep

I mean it isn't. Yours is good, mine sucks

[Sam]  
Sucks, dude. Princess life spoiled you for hard living, huh?

[Dean]  
Yeah, maybe

[Sam]  
Well, everyone wants to see your new place, we should throw you a housewarming party! Get the place decked out real nice for you. 

[Dean]  
Sounds good

[A minute later]  
I need to find something to do, I'm kind of growing restless. Maybe even get a job. Money doesn't grow on trees and I hear there'll be a party in my house, I gotta buy some liquor for all you crazy kids

[Sam]  
Everything okay, Dean?

[Dean]  
Yeah, I'm fine. Just not used to this. Sitting around all day or lying around all night. Getting a bit stir crazy in this place and it’s only been a couple of days

Lying around on a sucky bed I should've said

[Sam]  
Hey, we should do something. Go on a trip, go camping or something. No business just pleasure. 

No ghosts allowed, I mean. 

Demons either. 

[Dean]  
You've got too much going on. Where are you gonna get the time off from? 

I'm gonna be fine, I just need to find something to do

And I need a new bed!

[Sam]  
I could ask around, see if anyone has a lead on a job? If that's really what you want, I mean. 

Man, I don't want you to leave, but worrying about you going stir crazy and hating it here is about as bad as worrying about you out hunting without me. 

And I can cut back on my work hours and cut some classes, who cares? Being in the same city for more than a week with you is pretty much what I've wanted my entire life. 

[Dean]  
Quit worrying, it's all good. You can ask around, see if anyone's got a lead on something. Who knows, you might make an honest man out of me yet

I care, and so should you! And you're gonna get a lot more than a week with me in the same city. I'm not going anywhere

[Sam after a couple of minutes.]  
Hey, what did Bobby think about you moving out here anyway?

[Dean]  
He said finally

[Sam]  
Really?

He’s awesome.

[Dean]  
Swear to God. I thought he was gonna hug me!

I kinda miss the crazy old grump

[Sam]  
Yeah me too. Maybe he should come visit, can you imagine? He can stay with you. 

Were you that much of a pain in the ass?

[Dean]  
I don't miss him THAT much!

Apparently. I don't remember being any different, I mean crankier maybe once or twice, but the way he acted you'd think I threw tantrums all day long

[Sam]  
Well, he must just think you're useless without me or something. Only explanation. 

[Dean]  
Go to sleep, dude, you're dreaming already!

[Sam]  
You know it's true, D. Lost without me.

Good night. I'll bring some beer over after work tomorrow, if you're around. 

[Dean]  
I’ll be right here

\---

_Dean_

Sammy came over to Dean’s new place on the third evening of Dean moving in.

And _of course_ Dean had checked out the house before shaking on it. He did go around looking at things. For instance, he distinctly remembered going into his prospective bedroom and noting it was small, containing one double bed, one built-in wardrobe and one sturdy looking chair. He also checked out the bathroom and the garage. Really, those two had been enough for him to agree to move in without any qualms. He had been a bit desperate anyway, what with moving out of Sam’s without having even seen the new place, but as soon as he’d found out the house came with those shower thingies that sprayed you all over and an empty garage to boot it was pretty much a done deal. 

To round off Dean’s good luck, the guy who was subletting had said he could wait for the deposit. It was a big deal, actually, because there was no way Dean was letting anyone loan him money. (He was a grown-ass man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself and his financial situation. In no way was he unsettled at having to think about money in any capacity that involved more than a week in advance.)

So there was a nice, clean bathroom and a garage for the Impala. Dean felt responsible, like he’d gotten a well-rounded impression of the place. But looking at the house through Sam’s eyes, it was as if this was Dean’s first viewing of it. 

Sam was a total girl: paying attention to detail, asking about damp spots around the windows, spouting some weird shit about storage space—like Dean had stuff to store! Maybe some of it was to get off to a good start with Rashid, Dean’s housemate, who turned out to be just as much of a girl about the whole thing as Sammy. Thinking about it, Dean could recall Rashid talking a lot more about the place when he was showing Dean around so this was probably not news. At any rate Dean was tagging along with the two of them feeling like he’d been plucked out of his own life and dropped straight into some friggin’ home renovation show. 

The truth was that he couldn’t bring himself to care about the carpeting or whether or not his east-facing bedroom was a blessing. He was sure it’d take him not three but three hundred days before he began to think of this as _his_ place rather than a glorified motel room minus the hassle of dealing with reception. 

Sadly, minus housekeeping as well. He’d made a half-assed effort to bring his bedroom to a state that would pass Sam’s obsessive scrutiny. It was only because he didn’t really feel like being embarrassed by his little brother rolling his eyes at him as if Dean were a pre-teen who hadn’t tidied up his room. Their life as children might not have been a fairytale, but Dean was thankful for silver linings. Not having your own room meant never having to clean it. Something that never used to stop Sammy from keeping whatever corner of the room he occupied neat and his. It was annoying as hell sometimes, with Sam guarding the sanctity of his bed covers and his few treasured possessions like a lioness guarded her cubs. But it was also something Dean instinctively respected.

He looked at Sam’s grown-up lanky form now, rotating around its axis in the middle of the living room area. Vague wistfulness tugged at Dean’s heart, making him want to win the lottery, then buy Sam the best house in Madison.

“Rashid’s nice,” Sam commented as he dropped down on the couch as soon as the front door closed. 

Dean’s only housemate did seem all right. Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but upon meeting the slightly chubby, studious-looking twenty-something dude he discovered he didn’t mind sharing with someone who’d obviously keep himself to himself. It was one thing to be sociable in a bar or over watching a game on TV. It was another thing having to do it all the time with a stranger with whom you lived in close quarters. It hinted at becoming friends, and Dean wasn’t really sure how to do that. What if the guy was all about hanging out, and Dean didn’t want to spend more time with him than what was needed to drink one beer? What if he decided to share some story from when he was young, and turned it into a sob fest or something? Or worse, asked Dean to join in! Lying all the time seemed kind of exhausting. Dean had no idea how Sam had done it with Jess. Okay, omitted the truth, whatever. The point was that this kind of close proximity made Dean uneasy. 

Sam didn’t count, of course, because their comfort around each other meant that being sociable wasn’t a conscious choice. They were just themselves in each other’s company, whatever that might mean at any given time. But with others…it was tricky. Dean had found himself unsettled at having to lie to some of Sam’s housemates, like Kate. Then he’d become more unsettled by being unsettled. 

After he made his comment on Rashid, Sam smoothly changed the topic without waiting for Dean’s reply. “You never said you had an open living room and kitchen,” he said. “That’s cool.”

Dean’s eyes encompassed the entire space. “Makes no difference,” he offered.

“Yeah, it does.”

Dean passed Sam his beer and lowered himself down on the couch next to him. His bed might have been abysmal, but the couch was out of this world: big, dark brown leather, comfortable as fuck. 

“How’s that?” he asked as they touched the necks of their beer bottles.

Sam took a big gulp. “You can have people over,” he said, exhaling. “You know, talk to them while you’re all having a drink and you’re cooking.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I don’t live in a modern day sitcom about hipsters, that’s why.” Dean put his socked feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. There was a strict ‘no shoes in the house’ rule, but no one had said anything about a ‘no feet on the table’ one.

“Come on, man,” he said, after meeting Sam’s obstinate gaze. “Can you imagine me, what…? Entertaining? It’s not my style.”

“How do you know?”

The question wasn’t argumentative, if only for the immediacy with which Sam had spoken—this was an instinctive reaction rather than a deliberate provocation about how they’d lived their lives. Sam’s face was a little apprehensive, too, as if he’d approached a skittish horse. 

Dean found answering difficult. No wisecracks were readily coming to him and he didn’t feel like plunging into some in-depth discussion about whether he’d ever had the chance to figure out who he really was or what he liked. At the very thought he recoiled inwardly. Trust Sam to throw them into the deep end half an hour after he’d arrived and two minutes after they’d been left alone.

“I just know, okay?” Dean lifted his bottle to his lips, drinking quickly, before going for a change of subject himself. “I need to do something about that bed, dude. I’ve slept on some shitty mattresses in my life, hell, I’ve slept on the ground enough times. But this, this…I’m telling you, Sammy, that bed is a crime against humanity. Well, against my back—what?”

Sam was looking at him as if a sun beam had sought out to make Sam’s face its landing bay. Dean was grateful for his beer—it allowed him to hide his gulp. It boggled the mind how his brother could just sit around, casual as you please, and be so goddamn radiant.

“Dude, you are such a princess yourself,” Sam crowed, his dimples deepening. Dean vaguely wondered whether hearing that word in association with Sam would ever stop feeling equal parts adorable and dirty. “You were practically fawning over that shower,” Sam continued. “You talked to me about it for like five minutes the first night.”

“Shut up, did not.” Dean considered giving Sam a kick, but it looked like too much effort so he flipped him instead. “Where can I get a half-decent bed?” he pressed his point, uncaring about whether that made him a princess or a freaking queen. A man had needs.

“There’s a website I’ve heard about; you can get a mattress delivered with a thirty percent discount or something, and you’ve got thirty days to return it if it’s not good for you.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Dean lifted his eyebrows together with his bottle. They took a sip and sighed contentedly in unison.

“So…” Again, Sam sounded a little unsure. “You’re seriously thinking about getting a job?”

They went on talking about it, their conversation changing lanes between trips down the memory one and the one in the present. It was good talking to Sam about this stuff. The boy had always had a practical head on his shoulders, plus he had the ability of making you go on and on, figuring out stuff without knowing you were doing it. Dean found himself saying that if he was going to rent and not be on the road hunting all the time, then it’d feel wrong to take other people’s money—making a point that any bar competition he won fair and square didn’t count. He confessed that he didn’t like the complications of hustling in the town he’d made his permanent residence. Sam’s eyes glinted at that, unequivocally happy, but his expression remained almost comically focused on listening to Dean. 

“So you’re going to get Netflix?” Sam said at some point, when they’d moved on to the perks of having a permanent place of residence. “Catch up all those daytime soaps you always happen to accidentally come across?” He took advantage of Dean’s hesitation which strategy to employ: denial or dismissal, continuing, “Am I going to flip through the channels one day soon and see you on Tyra Banks?”

“Dude, you’re the one who knows who Tyra Banks is,” Dean pointed out, trying to sound less defensive. Sam just shook his head, his eyes glistening. He was so damn beautiful that Dean thought dazedly he could watch him all day instead of any show on TV and be happy.

Dean was having a good time, even with the claustrophobic longing and the serious talk about finding a job. Soon they were loosening up further thanks to the beers and ended up flipping through the TV channels and having exchanges over anything and everything, often not even concerning what was happening on screen. 

“So what, if a guy was a magician he’d be even more cunning as a ghost, is that what you’re saying?” was Sam’s contribution to the topic of hypothetical batshit crazy ghosts.

“Think about it, dude,” Dean told him emphatically. “He’s already a pro at conning people to believe impossible stuff, can you imagine what shit he’d pull off if he had supernatural powers?”

Sam started giggling; it took him half a minute to tell Dean that the magician ghost would most likely have to be bound to a fluffy bunny. Dean wriggled his eyebrows and went for the kill, enjoying Sam’s appalled reaction pre-emptively. “Then we’d have rabbit barbecue for dinner, Sammy,” he told him casually. Sam didn’t disappoint, although he tried his best to look exasperated with Dean.

It occurred to Dean that they were once again in a room that was strange for both of them—neither particularly affected by that fact—only now they could just dissolve into a pointless banter for hours on end if they wished to, with nothing urgent pressing. Part of Dean felt protective of their last two years together, before Sam left for Madison; of the time when they had reconnected while connecting invisible dots on the map of the country, killing monsters and chasing after their father, with their joint history and their individual purposes. Sam’s had been revenge. Dean’s…Dean’s had turned out to be to hide in the journey itself. He had wanted his family back. It might have not been crystal clear when he’d set out to get Sam from Stanford but he hadn’t just wanted to find their dad. Dean had wanted to find Sam first, then have them both find each other again. 

Now they were here and another part of Dean was already letting go of the past and embracing their shared present, this ‘here and now’ where they could be brothers beyond the hunts and the horrors that bound them. Yeah, okay, as the evening progressed he kept stealing yearning glances at Sam that were not very brotherly and once or twice wondered if he hadn’t caught Sam’s swift sideways glances at him, too. It made Dean daydream for just a second that maybe they could also be just two people. Two young guys, free from their past and the shackles that identity could put on you; two young guys who kept slouching down on the couch until they were half-sprawled on it, relaxed and a little giddy to be so close. 

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Sam left after four hours, a few minutes before half past eleven. To say that the hours had flown like four minutes would have been inaccurate because it suggested that having Sam around was something that existed within a time-frame. The reality was that for Dean, there were two states of time: chunks that contained Sam in them and chunks without him. It didn’t make a huge difference whether Sam had stayed for four hours or for four days—closing the door behind him and knowing it wasn’t only for a brief moment always made Dean feel as if the gesture cut off the air supply to an essential part of him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Second week of July, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

Four weeks after he arrived in Madison and two weeks after he moved out of Sam’s house, Dean picked up a job at Wayne’s Automotive, a small repair shop on the east side of town. 

When he started out they only promised him two or three days a week. Ten days on and they were calling him in almost full time. Dean told Sam on the phone, grumpy and defensive, that they were threatening to make him sign up for health insurance. “Pretty sure that’s a good thing, Dean,” Sam said, trying not to laugh, but he took Dean’s point. The fine line between security and stagnation was not lost on Dean.

Sam had overheard him and Kate talking about something like that more than once. Kate was an avid listener whenever Dean would spin one of his yarns, always wanting to hear more about his life on the road. Dean told Sam, the first night he came over to check out Dean’s new place, that he didn't like the thought of having to lie all the time, not to people he was going to see more than once. Dean had asked out loud – in a coded, roundabout way of course – a question Sam had turned over silently more times than he could count: how do I do this? How do I build an honest life when it feels like the only way I know how to talk to people is to lie? Sam thought it surprised them both how easy it turned out to be for Dean, and how little he ended up having to lie. Dean was Dean, he was himself no matter where you put him, and that was the truth.

So Dean was careful with his hours at work, protective of his personal time. He didn’t get health insurance and he never worked on Wednesday nights. Showed up regular as clockwork for dinner with Sam and his housemates. The ease with which Dean fit himself into Sam’s life startled Sam almost as much as it settled him, his nearness soothing something essential in both of them. 

All that aside, though, Sam could tell it freaked Dean out, having an address that didn’t come with a room number tacked on the end. So maybe he mowed the lawn without complaint and even seemed to enjoy it, kicking back on the front porch with a beer and making Sam admire how even his lines were. So maybe he congratulated himself daily about having a hose so he could wash his baby whenever he wanted. All that didn't mean they were suddenly the Bradys, and while they talked about plenty of other things, Dean’s sudden decision to move out of Sam's house was never one of them. The facts spoke for themselves, anyway.

The facts said that they’d gone a little crazy that first weekend Dean was away, off in New York with the Campbells. ‘A little crazy.’ Right. A little crazy in the way that Dean narrating a fantasy while Sam got himself off to it was a little crazy. But Dean had been hurting and too far away for Sam to do anything except tell him the truth. 

_'I would do anything for you, Dean. Anything you needed.'_

And Dean had turned sweet, so sweet, it had been the easiest thing in the world to picture his drugged, dopey smile, imagine the way he’d burrow down into the blankets, nesting in his borrowed bed, letting Sam bring him water and painkillers and change the channels on the muted TV until he found something easy on the eyes. 

_'God I just know you’d take care of me so good baby boy, want you here so bad.'_

And Sam’s lovesick brain had sung back, _Want you, want you, want you_ , and for a few crazy minutes he let himself fly so high, not forming the thought into any more complicated words but not pushing it away, either; allowing himself to circle around the idea that maybe they were speaking the same language.

He’d been proud of himself, cutting things off when he did. When Dean really was slipping, when he started slurring through the haze of the magic pills, Sam had simply said, _‘Good night, Dean.’_ Sam had decided for both of them, _enough for now_. They had plenty of time ahead. He’d slept like the dead that night and when he saw Dean next day he’d felt himself jolt to life like he was Frankenstein’s monster and Dean had thrown the switch. But of all the ways he’d imagined their next meeting, coming face to face with Dean’s long-suffering big brother act, coming home to find Dean packing up all of his things – and a few of Sam’s – and leaving, hadn’t even been on the list. 

Sam spent the rest of that afternoon feeling stupid and sick, the circular monologue of blame and self-loathing so familiar it made him want to laugh. What was his life that he kept letting this happen? That he kept doing this. When his phone finally rang at nine PM he almost let it go to voicemail, already sure it was going to be Dean calling from five hundred miles away. _Change of plans, Sam._

“Sammy,” Dean had sounded tired, with at least two beers down the hatch, but also indisputably happy. “Sammy, the shower at this place is awesome. Like, yours isn’t bad, man, but the water pressure here? Forget about it. And it’s got one of those things, those sprayers with the different settings, you know what I mean. It’s like getting a water massage. This is better than magic fingers, dude.”

\---

So, Dean began to settle in. 

Even after he moved out they saw each other almost every day, and talked or texted on the nights they didn’t, keeping it light with no special effort. Proving time and again how on that night when Dean was away, and all those months before, it had been Sam’s own special brand of crazy that directed them down the kind of path they kept ending up on. 

Dean soon told Sam that he needed to find something to do, that he was getting restless. It sparked the same ember of fear that had been lying dormant in Sam’s chest since Dean showed up: that Dean would give it an honest shot and still find that this life wasn’t for him. When he thought about it, Sam felt like he and Dean had been asking each other variations on the same question their whole lives. When Sam would bitch about Dean leaving him alone after school to go on dates with increasingly beautiful girls, when Sam walked out the door against his father’s orders and looked over his shoulder just once and saw how Dean’s face had gone as pale as the ghost they’d just wasted, and so many other times in between. That same old question. _Why can’t I be enough for you?_

But now Dean was here, in Madison, for Sam. Only for Sam. Because Dean wanted to be close to him. And, now, because Sam just couldn’t stop pushing, pulling at him, Dean had once again kicked back, lashed out before Sam had the chance to truly fuck things up for them. Dean wanted to be near Sam and Sam had made it impossible for Dean to stay in his house anymore.

\---

_Second week of July, 2008_

[Sam]  
You look so cute in your little mechanic outfit. Are you making friends? Having fun?

[Dean]  
Creepy dude. Creepy

You got a thing for men at work, Sammy? And their outfits?

[Sam]  
And if I do?

[Dean]  
Then I'm gonna have to use the hose to keep you away from the rest of the guys here

Or on them to keep them away from you

[Sam]  
Oh, yeah? Do you think any of them are into 6'4" anthropology students who can't tell a carbeurator from a fan belt?

I feel like a complete creeper. Or worse, like I'm turning into you.

Sorry, Dean. I had to go to a store down the road from your shop, thought I’d stop and check out the place but you looked busy and I didn’t want to bother you. Didn’t mean to be a creep.

Who was that young guy in the red hat? He's cute.

[Dean]  
Oh you think so? 

His breath stinks

Some of them might be into a tall, gorgeous young guy they don't wanna talk cars with

And I can teach you the difference. What do you say? 

[Sam]  
I guess it's too bad for them I've already got one car nut in my life and that's about my limit. 

Still going okay, having a regular gig, having a boss? They’re not working you too hard are they? I could always show up and look intimidating, make them lay off you.

[Dean]  
That was a good one. Thanks for the good laugh, Sammy

And no, don't want you showing up here. You're off limits, but they don't know it and I kinda like this job, wouldn't wanna lose it over someone's broken nose

[Sam]  
Now that you're a civilian you gotta take your kicks where you can get em, I guess.

Oh, I'm off limits now? Good to know.

Glad you like the job, that's great. Think it'll stick?

[Dean]  
Dude, I am NOT a civilian.

Yeah, I think so. It's cool. Money could be better but it'll do for now. It's good to do something with my hands too, you know. Besides texting my pain in the ass little brother

Well you're off limits at least while you're under my roof. Or something

[Sam]  
Hey, I'm keeping you nimble with all this texting, fine motor control is no joke. They should pay you more for your manual dexterity.

[Dean]  
They should pay me more period. Thanks for keeping my fine motor running

See what I did there? 

[Sam]  
And now I'm under your roof? Jeez, give a guy some earning power and he goes all caveman on you.

Pretty sure your brain's frying like an egg in the sun, Dean.

[Dean]  
I said or something, didn't I? I meant you can't hook up with people I know. Or I can see. Or I've met

[Sam]  
And what if I do, you gonna get out your club and start bashing heads together?

[Dean]  
Hose.

Actually scratch that, people would love that in this heat

So what, you gonna taunt me how freaking hot it is all day? Low, dude. You should be telling me how you'll get me a cold beer when I come over tonight, put the fan on for me

[Sam]  
You're coming over tonight?

[Dean]  
Figured I deserve to kick back and let you take care of me after being stalked at my own workplace

[Sam]  
Fair enough. But hey why don't I come to your place, there's gonna be a crowd at mine.

[Dean]  
You got plans? I can come over another night, it's cool

[Sam]  
Not plans, just my housemates are having some people over, I didn’t really want to be here for it anyway.

[Dean]  
You ditching on your own house party, Sammy?

[Sam]  
No, dude, I’m serious, I’d rather go to yours.

[Dean]  
Will you still bring me cold beers?

[Sam]  
Who do you think you're talking to?

[Dean]  
My very own stalker?

[Sam]  
So when are you done?

[Dean]  
When can you come over earliest?

[Sam]  
That's not an answer.

[Dean]  
I can be flexible as long as I finish what I'm working on by Tuesday morning. It's a sweet deal

[Sam]  
Yeah, that's awesome. I'm gonna be kinda tied up until like 7:30 though, so you do whatever works for you.

[Dean]  
I'm gonna leave at 7 then, put in as much work as I can, then I can sleep in tomorrow morning

Expecting you to entertain me until the small hours in case you didn't get that

[Sam]  
Great, okay, I'll pick up some beer and burgers and meet you at your place.

Yeah, Captain Subtlety, I got that. What do you wanna do, braid my hair and talk about boys?

[Dean]  
Hey, I'm subtle. You're tall so you're closer to the sun, your brain's melting faster 

That's not what I want to do, but it looks like someone's spilling his dear diary secrets

[Sam]  
Oh my god. You're really reaching.

Which is hard for you because you're like a midget, but still. Weak.

[Dean]  
Perfect height, thanks

[Sam]  
Hey Dean, remember that time in Omaha when I got invited to that party and you wouldn't let me go without you? What the hell was that truth or dare game all the girls wanted to play, do you remember that? 

You know people were still into that crap when I was at Stanford. More alcohol was involved, obviously, but people just love to talk about their secrets. 

Unless we're questioning them for a case, apparently, and then everyone lies. People are weird, man.

[Dean]  
You saying you wanna play a little truth or dare?

[Sam]  
That is definitely not what I said. 

I bet I know all your secrets anyway, you're like an open book to me, Dean.

[Dean]  
Second good laugh today, I owe you, dude

You don't know all my secrets but fine, you get the dares then, I get to ask about your secrets. How's that, know it all?

I'll see you tonight. I’m gonna have machine oil on my hands now, can't text anymore

[Sam]  
Okay man, later.

\---

Sam had slid into his car that morning, tossing Kate’s list of booze and munchies onto the passenger seat where it rustled in the Buick’s weak A/C, a little crumpled from his fist and wilted from the heat and altogether vaguely accusing. He’d offered to do the supply run just to get out of the house, to try and untangle why he was getting so bent out of shape over this party Kate was hosting and expecting him to be a part of. It wasn’t like he was allergic to parties or didn’t know how to socialize. Tagging along with Dean to his coworker’s party last week with Dean had been fine, they'd had a good time. Feeling like he wanted to run away from his own house because he’d kind of been wanting to hang out with Dean tonight but didn't really want his brother mixing with the people he'd been calling friends before Dean showed up was stupid. This was his life, and he was happy with it.

 _Happy_ , he thought, rolling down the window so the list flapped in the sudden breeze, skittering around before ending up in the foot well. _Happy_ had been signing the form to drop his history elective, the summer course he'd signed up for on a whim a few days before Dean arrived. _Happy_ was the feeling of freedom that came along with the fact that, without a Monday/Friday commitment, he'd be able to take off with Dean on that camping trip they'd been talking about. _Happy_ was the anticipation of working a few extra shifts this month so come August they could head out on a real vacation, if Dean still wanted. 

If his oh-so-respectable, maybe-taxpaying brother could get time off from his own job, Sam thought with a grin. 

There was a combo liquor/grocery store not far from where Dean worked, the fact of which Dean had triumphantly informed him the day after he started the job, so Sam pointed his car in that direction.  
He picked up everything Kate asked for and then drove slowly back down Monona Drive until he saw the shop, a broken-in but well-maintained little cement block building on the other side of the street. He pulled over and put the Buick in park to look across the two lanes. The shop was bustling, customers and mechanics swarming in and out of the garage in the haze of heat and fumes and raucous chatter and even Sam, as car-blind and disinterested as he was, could tell this was a good place. Sam rolled down the window to let it all in, sinking back in his seat, thinking he’d just watch for a minute and then be on his way, no intention of getting out of his car and embarrassing Dean by trying to get his attention from across the yard like someone's mom on the first day of school. Not that Sam really knew what that was like, but it seemed like the kind of accusation Dean would throw at Sam for showing up at his new job for no reason.

Dean was leaning against the wall, standing out effortlessly from his blue-shirted coworkers. They looked like they were consulting over something, clearly still on the clock but taking advantage of the moment in the shade to enjoy the reprieve from the sun and the hard work in the way only men who’d known little else all their lives could do. In another minute they were laughing, jostling and egging each other on, and Sam grinned and shook his head to see Dean throw back his head and laugh before leaning forward again to lay into one of the younger-looking guys, a kid in a red ball cap who leaned in and dished it right back to Dean, his grin wide and crooked and brilliant against the smudges of grease on his cheek.

Sam chewed on the hangnail he’d been worrying all day, feeling a sudden twinge of guilt for this small act of subterfuge and wondering if Dean had ever tagged along with Dad to spy on him at Stanford. Wondered what it had looked like, felt like, to see Sam on his own, in his element in an environment utterly alien to the rest of his family. He waited until Dean turned his back to rev up the Buick and drive quickly away. Perversely, as soon as the shop was out of sight, Sam felt an equally strong need to let Dean know he’d been there. He managed to wait until he was back home, until he’d helped set up what felt like half a liquor store on their kitchen counter under Kate’s supervision, until he was pretty sure Dean would be taking his lunch break, before texting him.

He couldn’t get the thought of it out of his head. Of what he would have looked like in Dean’s eyes, if Dean had hidden in the shadows and watched him at school.

Despite all the pain surrounding the circumstances, their time apart when Sam was at Stanford had laid the foundation for something new between them. By the time they got back together enough had changed, enough time had passed, that Dean could finally start to see Sam as his own person, even as an equal, and though he’d never say it out loud there were areas (besides his height) where Sam had surpassed Dean and they both knew it. But it never could have happened if Sam hadn’t left.

There were things he’d learned in the two years they rode together. Like the fact that Dean had a very real reason for acting like Sam belonged to him because his had been the hands to carry Sam from a burning building when Dean himself was barely out of diapers. Sam had wondered a time or two if he ever would have heard that story if they’d never split up. It would have been just one more of those things that Dean carried around inside himself and that Sam never needed to know. A link in the family chain that he didn’t know was missing. Like the thing with the Striga. Like the way Dean was with a girl he really liked. Of course Sam would never know for sure, but he couldn’t help but think that Dean probably would not have tried for anything with Cassie, the first time around, if Sam had still been in the picture.

Then again, maybe he would have. He’d fallen for her hard enough to break the Winchester cardinal rule, after all. And that was the shock of it. Not that Dean had got a crush and gone a little crazy, Sam had seen him goofy over girls before; it was how Dean had gone and fallen in love, and Sam hadn’t been there to see it – that was the missing link in the chain. Something happened to Dean and for the first time ever, Sam wasn’t there for it. 

The memory of finding out about Cassie, meeting her, discovering that something real had happened to his brother in Sam’s absence, set an itch going under Sam’s skin that made him doubly sure he didn’t want anything to do with the party at his house tonight. Dean had said to him once, in a text the night of that crazy storm, _‘You can’t even kiss a girl if you don’t like her.’_ Just like Dean had tried to downplay Cassie, not let Sam in on what a strange, out-of character move he’d made with her, Sam really didn’t want to be around to see Dean confronted with the evidence that yeah, Sam actually could.

\---

“Just one drink, Kate, I’m serious. I have to drive somewhere in an hour."

Kate narrowed her eyes at Sam, harried and suspicious and vaguely pissed off. It freaked him out sometimes, how much she reminded him of Dean. It wasn’t their similarities that freaked him out; it was that he hadn't noticed them until Dean himself showed up. 

"Why did you go on a supply run and help set up for a party you were planning to ditch?"

"Um…guilt? Hero complex? I don't know, Kate, I’m sorry--"

"Is it because Araceli's here?"

That wasn't it, well, it kind of was, though not all of it, but it was an easy out. He shifted and let his eyes slide away from Kate's. "Ari's here?"

Kate rolled her eyes and dumped another two shots of Captain into Sam’s Coke. “Don’t be an idiot, it’s unattractive. But thanks for picking stuff up today."

"You're welcome."

"You're still a jerk for skipping my party. For the second week in a row."

Last week, Sam had gone with Dean to a Fourth of July party hosted by one of Dean's new coworkers, glad for the excuse to avoid the party at his own house. Scrolling through Kate’s invite list, he’d been unsettled to find that he recognized almost everyone who was going to be there and it honestly baffled him, when he thought about it, all these Facebook-official friends he'd somehow managed to pick up in the last six months. It had started with his housemates, of course, and then there were his classmates, and his coworkers. And all of them had friends and classmates and coworkers of their own, and he'd begun to see the city as a big map overlaid with a web; it was at once so big that a person could go out alone and feel comfortably anonymous, and so small that once you'd made one friend, about ten more came with them.

That's how Sam met Araceli. Kate had a group she liked to go dancing with and in that brief, awful period of time when he and Dean were fighting, and then again when they were not speaking, Kate had managed to drag him out a couple of times. And her friend Jaime was sort-of dating a guy who knew a girl whose cousin was a bouncer at this club, The Cardinal, who would let them in for free, and there was Araceli. Tall and curvy and tight like a coiled spring, full of crazy energy just waiting to be unleashed. She'd taken Sam on as her project and taught him to salsa, and then she’d taken him to bed a few times as well. Sam wasn't super proud of that; he wasn't in love with her and didn't want to be, he didn't want and couldn't imagine a future with her, but when she smiled at him, when she slid her arms around his waist and held very still for just a moment before pressing her lips to his, it was easy to forget his objections for awhile. It was nice to feel wanted, he realized. Nice to lose himself in someone else's passion. Making love with her felt almost the same as dancing with her, her strong arms guiding him, somehow without breaking the illusion that he was leading, was in control.

Sam hadn't seen Ari much since Dean showed up. He'd mostly stopped going out, actually, unless Dean wanted to, and Dean wanted to a lot less than Sam had expected. It felt like a sigh of relief, a breath of fresh air, a cliché for ‘thank God things are right again’ that was unique to Sam and his brother. Sam hadn't really liked going out all the time. Had realized belatedly that he was mostly doing it because it was a thing people did as a way to keep from feeling lonely. 

_Lonely._ He didn't like that word, shied away from it. He'd always thought that _lonely_ meant a fear of being alone, and he wasn't. He didn't mind being alone and never had. _Lonely_ conjured up an idea of the kinds of people who needed to surround themselves with other people just to feel real. It made him think of people who were insufficient. Sam had never been insufficient. The thing was, though, that he'd never really been just one person.

\---

Araceli was sitting on the top step, drinking a beer and watching the crowd gathering in the yard, when Sam came out onto the porch.

“Hey,” Sam said, sitting down beside her.

“Hey!” Araceli’s face lit up and she hugged him, kissing his cheek. Pulling away, her grin turned cheeky. “Kate said you might stop hiding in your room some day.”

Sam scoffed. “I wasn’t hiding, I’m—"

“Busy with schoolworks, _si._ I know.” She reached out and tucked his hair behind his ear. “It’s been so long since I saw you, I think your hair is trying to run away from you.”

Sam laughed, her lilting voice and sparkling eyes drawing him in, as usual. 

“You have missed some good times at the Cardinal,” she said a minute later, leaning against him briefly.

“Yeah? And uh, whose definition of ‘good times’ are we using?”

She knocked their shoulders together again and shook her head. “Not Jaime’s, if that’s what you mean.”

Sam gave a theatrical shudder and smiled at her. 

“Do you think you will ever come around again?” she asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows. “I thought I wasn’t exactly allowed back in?”

Ari laughed, her shoulders shaking as the kind of flush she always got after a long night of dancing spread across her bare shoulders. “Is this why you stay away? _Pobrecito_. David will give you a hard time but that’s all this is, just his talk. You’ll see.”

Sam found it easier than he'd anticipated to just look away and shrug.

“At least come dancing sometimes with Kate and Jaime,” Araceli said, sipping her beer and speaking lightly, flashing a smile. “Kate finally is starting not to salsa like a white girl.”

Sam snorted. “Kate’s not even white.”

Araceli shook her head on a long-suffering sigh. “ _Baila como una guera._ ”

\---

One drink turned into two because Kate was an enabler who couldn’t stand the sight of anyone standing around without a drink in their hands. This wasn’t even supposed to be a big thing, just a couple of friends coming over for drinks and to finish up the rest of the food from their Fourth of July party, but by the time half the staff of the Cardinal arrived and the neighbors wandered over with their guitars and Jaime and Carter showed up with a box of leftover fireworks, Sam gave up on anything Kate put her mind to ever being low key.

When Kate filled up his cup for the third time Sam didn’t even bother protesting, just resigned himself to holding it without drinking it as Araceli cajoled him into playing ladder toss with her.

“Seriously, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, peering dubiously at the set of rubber balls joined by a rope that she handed him.

“You throw them to the _escalera_ and try to…” She circled her hand, searching for words, then demonstrated by throwing them skillfully so they wrapped around the top rung of the ladder set up several paces away. “ _Asi_.”

“ _Presumida,_ ” Sam grumbled, and she grinned.

\---

Twilight settled into the trees and the neighborhood came alive.

Voices and music, laughter and the pop of dime-store fireworks, and Sam threw back his head to inhale the smell of scorched meat and gunpowder in the air – tangy and familiar and, for once, both exciting and safe. On the porch Felicity’s voice rang out, clear and fragile and wrapped around with the strum of guitars and the hum of traffic from the next street over. Saturday night in July, the world was good.  
And there was Sam's brother, walking across the lawn to him.

“Dean!” Sam felt a ridiculous grin break out across his face and he strode away from the stupid ladder game to give him an awkward one-armed hug, just catching himself before spilling his drink all over Dean. “What are you doing here, man? I thought I was coming to you!”

“Yeah,” Dean was frowning at him, “and I thought you didn’t want to be here tonight.”

Sam blinked and looked around at the crowd gathered in the yard, clustered around Josh and Tony at the grill and Kate at the keg, girls in short skirts with their arms around each other and an array of lawn games scattered across the grass. 

Sam ducked his head and shrugged, speaking to Dean’s shoes. “Yeah, I, uh, I didn’t think it was gonna be such a big deal.”

Dean rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe he was saddled with such an embarrassment of a younger brother. “Dude, you’re having a party and you didn’t want to invite me, I get it. You could have just told me you needed some you-time with your hipster friends.”

“Dean, what? No! Listen, this isn’t my party, these aren’t my friends. Kate just kept…You know how she is.” Sam held up his cup. Dean took it away from him and Sam scowled. “I was drinking that.”

“Yeah, I noticed, Trashy.” Dean sipped it and made a face. “The hell?”

“I dunno, man. She just put it in my hand.”

Dean drained the rest of it and tossed the red plastic cup on the ground. “Whatever. What can a real man get to drink around here?”

“ _Dean._ ” Sam bent to pick it up. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Hey,” Dean brought up a hand like he was aiming for Sam’s shoulder but kind of missed and it ended up resting over his heart, instead. “One of us is the asshole here tonight, and it ain’t me, little brother.”

“Dean!” Sam trailed after him, standing awkwardly by while Dean stooped to allow Kate to kiss his cheek as she handed over his plastic cup full of too-foamy Spotted Cow. He didn’t wait for Sam, just strode right over to the porch to clasp Ahmed's hand, saying how he didn’t know Ahmed played guitar. “That’s awesome, dude, know any CCR? Clapton? Hey play some Skynyrd, man!”

Annoyed — pissed off, actually, because this wasn’t his fault — Sam got his own beer from Kate, letting her talk to him for awhile before he wandered back toward Araceli, who was twirling a set of ladder balls and laughing with Jaime and Emily like she was still waiting for Sam to get back and take his turn.

“Who’s the chick?”

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam wiped at the beer he’d spilled on his shirt when Dean snuck up on him. “Give a guy some warning, huh?”

Dean snorted. “Right, cuz that’s how we roll.” 

“Thought you were working ‘til seven?”

Dean lifted one shoulder. “Got done early, got bored. Thought I’d pick you up and save myself the embarrassment of seeing your grandma car parked outside my house. Seriously, who is she?”

“Who?” Sam blinked, looking around. “Oh, Ari? No one. A friend. She works at the Cardinal, a bar down the street from mine.”

“Huh.” Dean narrowed his eyes, darted a glance at Sam before lifting his cup to his lips. “She’s not the bartender you got kicked out cuz of, is she?”

Sam frowned, staring at Dean, then flushed so hot he felt sweat break out on his temples. “No.” He lied, glaring. “And I can’t believe you even remember I told you that, you were so hopped up on painkillers.”

Dean smirked, watched Araceli bend over to adjust her sandal strap. “Uh-huh.” He looked up to meet Sam’s eyes, his own glittering, and Sam rocked back on his heels. “You got a little crush, Sammy? Okay, how’s this: you go talk to her, I’m gonna get another drink.”

“But, Dean…” _I thought we were leaving_ died on Sam’s tongue as he watched Dean stalk away. He trailed after him for a few steps before veering off, heading inside and making for the bathroom. He splashed water on his face, telling himself he was definitely good to drive; he’d go find Dean right away and get the keys out of his pocket, then they’d go back to Dean’s and salvage the evening. 

Sam got outside in time to see Dean sling a horseshoe through the air, casual as anything. It wrapped around the stake with a satisfying clang. 

“Dude.” Sam came to stand beside him, grinning in spite of himself. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Sammy.” Dean tossed him a wink before throwing another horseshoe. _Clang._ “While some people were taking the LSATs, the rest of us were learning useful skills.”

“Right,” Sam drawled, nodding like it all made sense, his head buzzing pleasantly with relief. Dean didn’t seem to be mad at him. “Dad taught you to hustle horseshoes, too. Or was it practice for ganking ghosts, throwing heavy iron things at targets?”

“Dude,” Dean muttered, smacking him in the side with the back of his hand. “Got an audience, remember?”

Sam blinked and looked around. A few of the people standing near them were looking at him curiously and he blanched, grabbing for Dean’s sleeve. “I’m sorry, Dean! I’m an idiot, I forgot—"

“For the love of — Just shut up, Sammy, okay?”

Sam pressed his lips together, then lost it as Dean continued to gaze at him, so fucking earnest. Like they were on a job and lives hung in the balance. He cracked first, grinning and then laughing, his hand finding Dean’s elbow and squeezing. “Yeah, okay, Dee.”

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering something probably insulting or at least politically incorrect, and threw another horseshoe.

\---

“No, no, come on, Dean, remember—"

“I remember you making a lot of stuff up, Sammy.” Dean was laughing at him, standing so close Sam could have counted his freckles like he did when they were kids and he was bored in the back seat with Dean sleeping against the window.

Sometime between the horseshoes and his sixth drink, Sam had attached himself to Dean’s side and now they were in the kitchen, and Sam thought it might have been because he said he was hungry, but he couldn’t remember because he had a point to prove, dammit, and Dean wasn’t helping! In fact Dean was laughing at him, grinning wide and making Sam grin too. 

Grin and then laugh, as he brought his hands up to Dean’s chest, his own fingers out of his control and restless against Dean’s collar. “I’m serious, I remember it perfectly, that’s how it went!”

“No, dude.” Dean shook his head, the lines around his eyes growing deeper by the second. “You’re thinking of Carson City, you got it backwards.”

“No,” Sam dragged, letting his head fall forward almost onto Dean’s shoulder. “That’s not what I’m talking about!”

“Man, I gotta be honest with you…” Dean’s voice wavered in Sam’s ears, laughter riding the edges as he pushed at Sam, tried to get a little space between them. “I have _no idea_ what you’re talking about.”

“ _Dean_!” Sam rapped the backs of his fingers against Dean’s shoulder. “I’m talking about that time! That time, you know, with Dad…” He hedged, suddenly aware of people over his shoulder, not wanting to get scolded again for talking about hunting.

“Oh, right, of course, ‘that time with Dad.’ Gee, Sammy, I don’t know how you put up with me being so dumb. Of course I know what you mean when you’re being so specific.”

“Shut up, jerk!”

“Bitch.” Dean finally pushed him away, reaching for the beer he’d left on the counter. “You owe me for making me listen to you all night, you know that, right?”

“You had like ten free beers that are probably coming out of my rent! Even though I bought them. Somehow. Kate’s sneaky!” Either Sam’s knees were traitors or the Earth had finally gone and started moving at different speed. Lucky Dean was there to be his own centrifuge and make things right, so Sam told a blatant lie just to test him: “I don’t owe you anything. You owe me! Yeah, that’s…yeah, you owe me.”

“Okay, baby boy,” Dean’s words slipped under the razor-wire fence Sam had constructed around his heart, leaving him gutted and defenseless and God, so goddamn happy he felt like he might go supernova any second now. “You’ve had enough. Bed time, huh?”

Sam’s hand found Dean’s shoulder again. He could find him in the dark, find him with his eyes gouged out, find him at the end of the world. “Too loud,” he said, nodding towards the stairs. A group of people had taken up residence on the landing outside Sam's bedroom, talking and laughing like it was their job to fill every cubic inch of his house with their noise. 

The Impala was three blocks away. In his drunken arrogance Sam thought maybe that they’d fly there, or materialize in a haze of glitter like on Star Trek. It was easy to forget, with Dean’s arm around his shoulders shoring him up, that their life, the world, wasn’t a fantasy or even really science fiction. 

There was some fiction, like the idea that some random person he’d met in a bar might be who he was looking for. He waved to Araceli as he and Dean started across the street, then almost fell, stumbling against Dean as his brother fisted a hand in his shirt, jerking him back from the blurring rush of a car running a red light. Dean’s curses followed the asshole into the night, barely fading away before he shook Sam, calling him an idiot and smacking both hands against his chest before dragging him across the street, eyes darting left and right, not letting go of him ’til they reached their car. Sam buried his hand in the pocket of Dean’s jacket and hummed along to the song in his head.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Second week of July, Madison, WI_

_Dean_

Driving back to his place Dean didn’t know what was worse: having Sam touch him every five seconds or having him slumped over in the far corner of his seat, sulking after Dean finally snapped at him to quit it. The touching felt different here, and not just because Sam didn’t seem to be holding back at all. Dean wasn’t even sure Sam was aware he was doing it so frequently, judging by how unselfconscious the brushes of his fingers seemed. He was talking, animated, his tongue tripping over explanations that made zero sense. Something about swans at some point. Or was it about the advantages of coriander? Over what, Dean couldn’t tell. Between trying to drive safely and battling the urge to grab at Sam, make him turn still and pliant in Dean’s hands, coriander was in stiff competition for Dean’s attention. 

The point was that back at the party Sam had seemed both less drunk and just a little more mindful of all the people around them. He’d only been holding onto Dean’s elbow when he dragged him from place to place and had been tapping incessantly at Dean’s chest and arm with the back of his hand, again while speaking. It had made Dean twitchy enough, but now it was magnitudes worse. Sam’s fingers didn’t appear to understand there were territorial restrictions here: they were dragging down the entire length of Dean’s upper arm, they were whispering the gentlest emphasis to a point against the back of his neck… Or trying to remove some spot from Dean’s cheekbone. It turned out to be a large freckle—a discovery that Sam shared with a quiet, unreadable voice. It was fucking dark in the car, and the road was fucking dark, too, and Dean expected that any second now a giant road sign would inform him that they were, in fact, the last two people on the planet, the small print suggesting that Dean ought to pull over, slump back and splay his legs open wide and let Sam run his hands all over Dean’s body to his heart’s content. Maybe Dean could hum a little to encourage him; maybe he could pull Sam closer and let his own hands finally touch his body like they’d been itching to all night, brush the hair away from Sammy’s damp face—

“So what, I can’t explain stuff to you?” Sam spoke, the whine in his voice coming through strong. “And I’m not allowed to even like, gest—gesti—gesticulate, and you’re just going to sit there and drive, is that it? You’re just going to drive in silence like a freaking Sphinx—Hey!” Sam sat up from his slouch, practically buzzing again. “That word is so gross, dude, I always thought it was gross. It’s like, it’s like…” Sam honest to God hid his face in his hands and giggled. “It sounds like sphincter.”

“All right,” Dean said and cranked up the volume. He’d kept the music on low, afraid that his head was going to explode from the combination of loud music and a hyper brother, not to mention Dean’s own noisy inner arguments. It was time for a change of tactic. “You gotta stop talking!” he told Sam, casting speed-of-light glances to him. “Where’s that bottle of water I gave you?”

Sam’s face was both crestfallen and indignant. “I finished it,” he told Dean, spreading his arms and waving his hands exaggeratedly to illustrate how void the car was of bottles of water. “Duh,” he added, then slumped back in his seat, curling and uncurling one of the strings from his hoodie around his finger. “You’re not letting me do anything,” he complained miserably. 

Dean sighed and lowered the volume again. He swallowed and reached for Sam, putting his hand on his leg. It was so warm, it practically begged Dean’s hand to slowly fuse with it. “You’re driving me nuts,” he told Sam, who’d frozen in his spot at the contact. “I’m trying to drive here, dude.” Dean paused for a few long seconds, before putting his hand back on the wheel. “You think you could keep quiet for another ten minutes until we get home?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah…uh, yeah,” he repeated, sounding a little breathless.

“All right. No one’s home, so you can…I don’t know, get on a chair and hold speeches if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t want to hold speeches.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

Sam mumbled something unintelligable.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“I want to go to bed and we can…we can sleep.” Sam sounded nervous, the intoxicated lilts in his voice endearing.

“Okay. We…We can do that,” Dean told him.

It was going to be a long night.

\---

Once they arrived Dean set out to check the house and salt it properly. It looked like this wasn’t going to be such a rare luxury. Although this was the first time Rashid hadn’t been home in something like five days, he’d told Dean that he usually had at least a couple of night shifts per week at the hospital. Dean still would have preferred to have his own place but he considered himself lucky to live with just one person, who also didn’t spend every single night at the house. 

One of the reasons Dean wanted them to come back to his place after the party was so that at least for one night he could sleep well, finally feeling reassured enough that both he and Sammy were safe. He’d seen with his own eyes the good work Sam had done on monster-proofing his place—the hidden, strategically placed hand-drawn symbols that were supposed to ward off evil spirits and some other sons of bitches, the silver knife under the bed… But if a demon wanted to come in, there was no stopping them without the salt. 

He’d had an argument with Sam on that, back at Bobby’s, right before Sam’s departure. 

“Of course I’m going to salt my windows at night!” Sam’s voice had boomed toward the end of the conversation. “But I’m not going to be the freak who does it all the time and I won’t do the door! If I’m going for a house share, I don’t want to explain myself to my roommates, Dean. And I don’t want to have to check myself every time I want to invite someone to my room, thinking about whether I’d removed the freaking salt lines!” At the idea of Sam turning his bedroom to a Casa Erotica set or worse, to a love nest, Dean had felt a twist in his gut. It had been enough to make him keep his mouth shut for a moment, which might have been better after all. There was no winning that ancient argument with Sam. 

“If demons want to get in, they’ll get in,” Sam had finished, breathing heavily. His last words on the subject had come out quieter. “You can’t expect me to continue to live like we do.”

In the present Dean was privately relieved they were going to preserve at least some aspects of their nomadic lifestyle. He walked around the house, quickly checking that it was safe, then returned to his bedroom. He’d told Sam to stay there, but within two minutes Sam had bumped into Dean three times, talking as he followed him everywhere. 

“All right,” Dean told Sam from the door. “Do you want some food?” 

Sam was sitting at the foot of the bed, gazing ahead with an unfocused expression. He stood up, swaying just a little.

“Do you want to eat?” he asked, then smirked. “Do you even have food? Beer doesn’t count.”

“Well, even if it did I’m not giving you beer, Trashy.”

“Hey!”

Dean grinned. “You’re the eighth dwarf, Sammy. Trashy, the giant ass eighth dwarf. “

Sam was somehow again about three inches away from him. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he said, his smile all white, shiny teeth. 

Dean shoved him away to get into the room. “Does too,” he said distractedly, eying his bed with anxiety. He was convinced it had looked bigger when he left the house earlier.

“I could eat some Doritos,” Sam spoke by Dean’s left ear, making Dean jump. 

“Jesus! You’re a freaking creep moving so quiet for such a Sasquatch.”

“I’m like a ninja,” Sam told him, smug. He was chewing a piece of gum that Dean didn’t want to think where he might have found. His breath wrapped Dean in a sweet, alcoholic heavenly cloud.

“Yeah, you wish,” Dean said, walking around him to head to the kitchen. “All right, I’m going to check if we have Doritos. Random.”

Sam followed him, muttering something about his ninja abilities. 

It turned out there was half a bag of Doritos left. 

“I saw it when we came in,” Sam told Dean, tone and widening eyes indicating Dean was stupid not to have figured out that was why Sam had asked for them. 

They got back to the bedroom where Dean finally took off his shirt and kicked off his shoes, then pulled off his socks, staying only in his jeans and t-shirt. He moved the only chair in the room closer to the bed and sat down, stretching his feet to prop them on the side of the bed. At last it was time to open a beer—Dean had suffered greatly back at the party, as he always did when he was having fun but trying to keep his alcohol intake moderate. 

He took a few big gulps and sighed gratefully. Sammy was sitting cross-legged on the bed and had begun shoving Doritos into his mouth. Before he’d even swallowed them properly he was off talking again, but this time his whole demeanor was more mellow. 

They spent fifteen minutes like that, chatting about the people at the party, one dude specifically who reminded them of Pastor Jim, only twenty years younger. Dean opened another beer, feeling relaxed and dopey by the second. Sam’s shoulders were sagging a little and he uncrossed his legs, stretching on the bed on his left side, facing Dean. He propped his head on his hand, the gesture unstable.

“Hey, remember when that hunter came to Pastor Jim’s while we were staying there,” he asked. “The one who had hair like some freaking heavy metal band’s lead singer or something.”

Dean barked out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m surprised you remember him, you were what? Eleven? Twelve?”

“Shut up, it’s not like I was two!”

“What about him?”

Sam tried to shrug; his hand slipped out from under him, making him faceplant a little. “Nothing,” he said, muffled, then propped himself up higher this time. “I just remembered him. He was like a bear.”

“How was he like a bear?”

“I don’t know. The hair, I guess, and he was hairy all over, and he kept talking about, hmm…” Sam licked his lips, his tongue sweeping over them, methodical and excruciatingly slow. His gaze on Dean was half-lidded, but still bright. His body was relaxed, t-shirt wrinkled up and revealing the low hang of his jeans on his narrow hips. Everything about him was so languid... Dean felt as if he was lowering himself inch by inch into a hot bath.

“All I remember was he talked about hunting monsters in the woods,” Sam told him. “They got to have fur, right?”

Dean shook his head and gave Sam’s shin a light kick. “You are the dorkiest dork to ever dork, you know that?”

They continued reminiscing about other hunters they’d met at Pastor Jim’s, wondering whether Ellen knew some of them. Soon Dean opened a third beer and took over the conversation, if it could even be called that—he was feeling so nicely buzzed and so damn good, he couldn’t be bothered to listen to what came out of his mouth. Sam’s voice had grown drowsy and his speech was more and more disjointed. He was fully lying down now, hands tucked under the side of his face, his eyes drooping. 

The conversation lulls grew longer and longer, the silence like the fluffiest blanket. Sam shifted and dug out the empty Doritos bag crushed under his body. He turned flat on his back and tried to shake into his mouth whatever little crumbs were left in the bag, but the result was that they rained down over his face and onto the covers.

Sam looked at Dean with an expression of intense guilt, eyes going huge again. “Dean. _Dean._ I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, Dean!” Sam spoke with urgency, moving with startling agility until he was on all fours and crawling towards Dean. “I’m sorry. I’m going to clean it up.”

“Dude, chill.” Dean waved him off. “It’s fine.”

Sam placed both his hands on Dean’s ankles, watching him with solemn eyes and shaking his head. “No, it isn’t,” he whispered. “It’s your bed and I made a mess of it. You got to let me clean it, Dean.” His hands tightened over Dean’s ankles, fingers wrapping around them like human shackles.

Throat dry, Dean pulled his feet away and planted them down on the floor, sitting up straight. Sam’s hands remained open in the empty air. He looked at them for a few seconds, then lifted his eyes to Dean’s, something murky and numb in them.

“All right, Trashy, time to sleep it off,” Dean said, getting up.

“’m not Trashy.”

“’Course you are.” 

Sam was sitting on his haunches, his hands in his lap. He looked up at Dean with a mournful expression. His hair was falling into his eyes, ends pointed a little, stuck together and damp with sweat. Of course Sam was sweating, even though he was down to his t-shirt, too. He’d taken off his hoodie as soon as he’d walked into Dean’s bedroom earlier, making Dean’s heart skip a beat at how liberating and impatient the gesture had seemed.

God, Dean couldn’t even look at him without burning to put his hands all over him.

“C’mon, baby boy,” he said without thinking.

Sam gazed at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like it when you call me that.”

“Yeah? Show me by getting up.” Dean didn’t even know how he managed to speak so calmly. 

At least it worked. Sam got up and they lifted the covers together, shaking off any crumbs from them, Sam mumbling about vacuuming tomorrow. Dean let Sam go to the bathroom first, while he took the beer bottles and the Doritos bag to the kitchen. He put the bottles neatly away, folded the bag into the smallest square he could manage and put it in the trash, then stood by the window cupping his neck and staring out in the dark without much thought.

He went to the bathroom after Sam and when he returned to the bedroom, he found Sam under the covers already. At least five different impulses sparked through Dean: fight or flight were dominant, yet they were quickly drowned by the urge to do sappy things like hug Sam or stroke his hair in gratitude for leaving the space on the left side of the bed empty. It was where Dean slept. It was where Sam preferred to sleep, too, once they stopped sharing and Sam had started sleeping in his own bed.

Dean stripped down to his boxer shorts, eyes darting to Sam to make sure Sam’s were closed. The bedside table lamp had been the only source of light; Dean turned it off and slid under the covers, settling on his back. For the first few moments the blackness was impenetrable, yet Sam was still a presence on his right, stretching out like a mountain chain. He’d turned, facing the spot Dean was expected to occupy.

Dean turned his head a little after his eyes adjusted to the dark and this time Sam’s eyes glinted back at him. He’d been able to tell Sammy wasn’t asleep by his breathing, but he still felt a spark at the eye contact. Neither of them had said a word since Sam had left to go to the bathroom. The silence felt familiar and in a flash Dean realized it had the same meaning as the thing they had with their text exchanges: it was known, felt; unacknowledged by a mutual unspoken agreement.

He was good with that. It had kept the door to their texting exchanges open. More than that, Sam was here in his bed. Sam was even shifting closer, legs and chest brushing lightly along Dean’s side, finally soothing that bone-deep need for physical contact that had left Dean aching all night. He put his left arm across his chest and tucked his fingers into his palm, allowing his knuckles to brush against the side of Sam’s wrist. Then he closed his eyes.

\---

_Interlude_

_Dean_

Sam had always had something abnormal about his body. When he was a baby, it was the way his face changed like an adult’s, before he was even out of diapers. Sam had a hundred different expressions if you asked little Dean, while other infants had, like, three: I’m angry, I’m happy, I’m sleepy. When Dean was seven or eight he went through a stage where he kept his eyes open for babies at every public place he found himself in. He observed them as much as he could, although he was careful, because he knew whoever was with them wouldn’t like anyone staring at their little boy or girl, just like Dean didn’t like when people kept their eyes on Sammy for too long. Dean’s seven-year-old brain couldn’t quite articulate a good reason for his creepy baby watching. He only knew it had something to do with making sure his baby brother was okay. In hindsight Dean could see that for a young child such as himself, comparison was one of the very few ways at his disposal to know what was normal. 

He used to ask his dad about Sam, about why Sammy did something or other, or what certain things meant—such as Sam’s little legs kicking rhythmically in his onesie, tireless, while his six-tooth smile gaped at Dean like a tiny cavern of delight as soon as Dean started singing to him. Dad tried to give Dean answers, but he wasn’t always in the mood, especially if Sam had been crying at the top of his lungs for hours on end. Dean quickly learned to gauge when it was a good time to ask questions. He didn’t really care why Sam had a rash around his wrist; he just needed to know whether that was normal for babies to have and most of all, that it would go away and his little brother would be okay. It didn’t occur to Dean until after his father died that John could have probably done with someone giving him a few answers, too. He’d lost not just the woman he loved. He’d also lost the mother of his children and his partner in their upbringing. A loss for their family that manifested itself in more than the black holes left in Dean and John’s hearts. Sammy’s probably, too, although it was hard to tell. Dean had asked his dad once if Sam missed Mom. The funny thing was he couldn’t remember what his father told him—only that it had eased something in him.

After observing other children it had become clear to Dean that Sam whined and cried and did stupid things like all babies, or at least this was what Dean concluded in his infinite older brother wisdom. But it was also obvious that Sammy was special. He seemed super smart - you could reason with him once you got him to listen to you. He wasn’t selfish and even when he was less than two years old, he never threw his food or drink at you in revenge. Unless you really pushed it with him—then you found most of your face and hair covered with the stuff. (Sam’s aim had been awesome ever since before the dude could even talk properly.) His face was amazing, like a whole other language that Dean understood as if someone had put in a chip in his little head.

As Sam grew up, his body continued to change in ways that were not like your average person’s. Firstly, his feet were freakishly small and didn’t seem to catch up with the rest of him for ages. At least this meant he could wear Dean’s hand-me-down boots without complaints—Dean usually wore them only for a few months, before his toes started feeling squashed and it was time for another stop at some thrift store. Then, Sam started feeling hot all the time. That wasn’t anything novel probably; thinking back, Dean could remember too many times when he’d check on baby Sammy in his bed to find his blanket pushed down, Sam stretched out and sleeping quite comfortably while Dean’s feet were like icicles. But at twelve Sam suddenly refused wearing anything more than a thin jacket over his hoodie in the worst of winter and that was that. Their dad tried arguing with him and Dean teased Sam that he was only trying to look like a tough guy. But Sam did what he wanted to do and much like later in life, there was virtually no changing his mind.

\---

They were sixteen and twenty respectively when they spent a hot July night in an abandoned cabin near a swamp, somewhere in North Dakota. They’d just killed a small Chupacabra, ending up with a small bite on the shoulder for Dad, a vile stink emitting from Dean’s clothes, and a pair of blazing eyes in Sam’s case. Sam had stayed back in the car because he’d still been limping from another hunt, but after a few hours he had grown too anxious, as he was wont to do. He arrived just in time to see the beast draw its last breath under the abundant light of a full moon, way outside town. They’d passed the cabin on the way to the spot where they’d expected to find the Chupacabra so they returned there to spend the night. Dad crashed in the front room, snoring after only three minutes, while Sam and Dean took the back room.

Dean woke up at dawn feeling as if fifty tiny lighters were held next to his skin, the tips of their flames maddening. His arms and his neck as well as his chest were all covered in vicious mosquito bites. He unsuccessfully tried scratching all of them at the same time, which only made matters worse, of course. When he went to bed he had made sure the windows were closed, but now they were all wide open. The uninterrupted lines of salt and the traps aligned under them solved the mystery—obviously Sam had woken up sweating to his bones and opened the windows to let some cooler night air in.

Mosquitoes had always _loved_ Dean. It was as if they were all given a mission in life by their Mosquito Overlord to find Dean Winchester and feast on his blood, and they took their quest to heart. They didn’t care whether Dean had indecent amount of alcohol in him or not; they didn’t care whether he was covered with monster juice or hadn’t showered in a thousand years. Perhaps it was some advanced karmic retribution for the blood suckers in human form that Dean was to take out later in his life, or perhaps it was just that he was sweet inside and out. Dean didn’t care to know the reason—he was content to hate the fucking insects with a burning passion.

Speaking of burning, that was the state of his body that morning. Sam was awake too, possibly because of the fierce kick to the hip he received from Dean. Dad had left already to go back to where they’d left the corpse and burn it, so they couldn’t even drive to the nearby town. Dean gave Sam a piece of his mind and went on scratching his bites with ferocity, Sam’s demeanor switching from guilty to admonishing. Dean went outside, threatening Sam and his ‘don’t scratch!’ attitude with a punch in the face if Sam followed him. He was hoping the clear morning air would somehow soothe his skin. He didn’t bitch half as much about it as he should, yet when he went back in, still feeling like he was going to go crazy, Sam’s eyes went even more remorseful. He kept repeating, “God, I’m so sorry, Dean. I forgot how you get, I’m sorry!” until Dean told him to shut the fuck up, if only because it wasn’t a big deal.

It actually was a big deal. Another fifteen minutes later and the areas around each bite had gotten red and swollen. Sam kept pacing up and down, his face having a matching color to Dean’s skin. Dean started feeling really weird, like he was going to cry or possibly start cutting himself just to do something and relieve the horrible sensation of his skin burning and trying to crack.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed and his mouth open, breathing heavily and feeling more and more ill, when suddenly there was coolness and a disgusting smell of vinegar all over him. He opened his eyes to find Sam hovering, pressing two damp towels along Dean’s legs to put down the fires. There was a bowl with cold water and vinegar by his side and Sam dunked his hands in it, then started gently patting Dean’s skin at the places where it hurt the most. He began rubbing gentle circles, too, his touch feather-light.

The relief was immediate. Dean closed his eyes again and focused on it so intensely that it knocked his breath out of him. Pulsing waves of bliss rippled through him, all coming from under Sam’s fingers. 

Sam did that for forty-five minutes, long after the itching and the burning had subsided to something bearable. Dean had lain still under his hands, eyes tightly shut and lips parted in unselfconscious slackness, head a mess at how good he was feeling, while Sam had kept his caresses on Dean’s bare arms, chest and belly, his noisy breathing and occasional gulps the only musical background in the hypnotic cloud that surrounded them that early morning. When the noise of the Impala’s engine floated to them, Sam got up and started cleaning up. Dean didn’t move for a couple of minutes.

It was the first time in his life when he consciously let himself think about his brother’s touch on his body.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_First week of August, 2008, Madison, WI_

[Dean]  
I’ve been watching you, little brother and I gotta know, when did you grow up like that, Sammy?

[Sam, after a minute.]  
When you were busy stalking other bartenders, I guess. Where are you?

[Dean]  
Told you before. no experience, you're the only one I've ever wanted to stalk

Or something. You know what I mean

Corner table by the window

[Sam, after a few minutes.]  
Well you're not doing a great job of it if I know you're here

Now I know why my spidey sense has been going crazy all night. 

[Dean]  
Hey, only reason you know I'm here is cuz I told you. I'm a professional, dude

[Sam]  
You’re something, all right.

Are you just gonna sit there and stare all night?

[Dean]  
Yeah, just gonna watch from here. I like the view.

[Sam]  
If you like what you see, do I get a big tip? 

[Dean, a couple of minutes later.]  
Bars are too high in this country

[Sam, after five minutes.]  
Maybe for a hobbit like you.

[Dean]  
My height is perfect, Sasquatch. It's only next to you that I look short cuz you didn't know when to say stop when the man upstairs was giving you inches

Bar's still too high, though. Even as tall as you are, my view’s obstructed. Can’t tip on what I can’s see

[Sam, after several minutes.]  
Take it from the Sasquatch, then, height only matters when you're vertical.

[Dean]  
And what matters when you're horizontal?

[Sam]  
A sturdy bed?

[Dean]  
Breaking my heart here, Sammy. You need someone to show you there's more to be happy about than a sturdy bed

[Sam, after a few minutes.]  
Didn't mean that's all there is to it. Just, good place to start.

[Dean]  
That so? Sounds like you know enough then, don’t need me for a change

[Ten minutes later.]  
Looks like you’re busy, catch you later

You can take me out someplace nice with all those tips

If you want to

[Sam, after five minutes.]  
Okay. How about breakfast tomorrow? If you can haul your ass out of bed before 9 I'll meet you at the Plaka.

[Dean, after fifteen minutes.]  
Nine? What do you think I got no night life?

[Sam, half an hour later.]  
Thought you were going home.

I have class at ten and I really want to see you so I guess you'll have to choose between sleep and me

[Dean]  
How did I get saddled with such a dork?

Fine. But I demand the unhealthiest stuff they got, you hear me?

And you gotta give me your best princess morning smile

Bat your eyelashes a bit too

[Sam]  
I promise you all that and a bloody mary assuming you manage to show up.

[Dean]  
Your faith in me is touching. Got some ice in your heart while you were mixing scotch on the rocks?

[Sam]  
You just seemed pretty jazzed about your plans for tonight, wanted to be clear.

[Dean]  
You mean how I just mentioned it in like one sentence? Am I gonna have to face your bitch face tomorrow morning? Makes my coffee taste bitter

[Sam]  
Oh shut up, my morning face is awesome and you know it.

[Dean]  
Beg to differ, dude, I've seen some real stinkers over the years. But unlike you I'm gonna show faith in you and show up tomorrow hoping for a smile. Cuz when you smile you make the world a beautiful place, Sammy

[Five minutes later.]  
You put something in the beer in that place that turns people into lame saps?

[Sam doesn’t reply until 1:30AM when he sends:]  
Your beautiful dean! When you smile t makes me want to kind of punch you cuz nothing should loook so good. World is a crazy place brother!

[Dean, 1:35AM]  
I hope you got your drunk ass back home alright

[After several minutes.]  
Better show up tomorrow, no matter how hungover you are

Don't care if you bitch or smile or look green, just want to see your face there at breakfast, you got that?

[After fifteen minutes.]  
Earlier in the bar when I was talking about how you grew up to be like that. You grew up so fine, Sam. You look so damn good, it's hard to look at you sometimes, but it's hard to look away too. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. There's your crazy world, brother

\---

_Next morning_

[Sam, 10:30 AM]  
I'm guessing there's no chance I'm getting out of this with my dignity intact.

[Dean]  
I'm driving to your house, are you there or should I save myself the trip?

[Sam]  
I'm not there. 

[After a minute.]  
Dean, I'm really sorry. I know this is a terrible excuse but my phone died and I didn't plug it in so my alarm didn't go off.

I missed my first class too if that makes you feel any better.

[Dean]  
Whatever, dude. I hope that means you'll stop treating me like a fucking flake

[Sam]  
How can I make it up to you?

[Fifteen minutes later.]  
Dean?

[A minute later]  
Come on man, I'm sorry.

My phone dies fast when I spend all day texting you.

[Dean]  
So this is my fault? That's weak, Sam. And it's not like I got fifty messages from you from last night

[A minute later.]  
It's fine, we're ok. I'll talk to you later

[Sam]  
I didn't mean to say it was your fault. Look, I feel awful, I was really looking forward to having breakfast with you. Isn't there anything I can do? I'll grovel, if you want.

[Dean, twenty minutes later.]  
Don't want you to grovel. Just get your sorry ass home and sleep it off, alright?

You want me to swing by and bring you anything? Greasy pork chops? Fried liver?

[Sam]  
I did sleep at home, Dean. What did you think I spent the night in some back alley or something? I'm serious, my phone died and I forgot to plug it in. And I'm not home now because I have class. It's not like I went on some kind of bender.

[Dean]  
How am I supposed to know that? You don't show up, you don't answer your phone, then you finally text me and say you're not home. I thought you never went home in the first place

[Two minutes later.]  
And you can quit acting like I'm hurting your feelings. What's so strange to think you spent the night someplace else, you're a grown man. I was pissed you made me get up at ass o'clock at dawn and then you never showed up, that’s all

[Sam]  
And I'm not hungover, I was hardly drunk anyway, so whatever.

[Dean]  
Well you sure sounded drunk to me last night!

You also told me you got smashed a time or two before I showed up, remember? But yeah, sure, I'm sorry Sam for upsetting you

[Sam]  
Whatever. I have to go I have class.

[Dean]  
Say whatever again, I don't think I heard you the first five times

[Sam]  
Who are you, dad?

[Dean]  
Fuck you, Sam

[Sam]  
Sounds about right

\---

[Sam, that afternoon]  
Hey. I just got home and Ahmed told me a funny story, want to hear it?

[Dean, after three minutes.]  
?

[Sam]  
Yeah, he told me you came here looking for me a couple hours ago. Which I thought was funny since you knew I wasn't here.

[Dean]  
I thought you'd come back soon. I got your classes wrong

[Sam]  
So, what, it's not enough for you to stalk me at work now you're checking up on me at home too?

[Dean]  
Won't happen again

[Sam]  
What'd you even come here for? You were pissed at me this morning now this afternoon you want to hang out?

[Dean]  
Told you it won't happen again

[Sam]  
That's not what I asked.

[Dean, after five minutes.]  
Well you were trying to pick a fight. Find someone else, not in the mood

[Sam]  
I'm not trying to do anything.

What did you come here for if not to pick a fight yourself?

[Dean]  
You should read your messages then, sure sounds like you were

Yeah, you're not trying to pick a fight

Just drop it, alright

[Sam]  
Well I wasn't until you started pissing me off.

Fine. Look, I'm sorry I fucked up, I'm sorry I stood you up for breakfast, and I'm sorry I snapped at you. All right?

And I actually mean it, whatever you may think.

[Sam, after fifteen minutes.]  
All right fine, pull the strong silent act. I guess whatever you came here to say wasn't important enough to tell me now that I'm actually home.

[Dean]  
I'm not pulling any act. Screw you Sam

[Sam, after 30 minutes]  
Right. Not an act. You're just engaging in stalkerish behaviors and refusing to talk about it. Or about anything that’s going on here.

Guess that's nothing new. I'm sick of fighting with you, Dean. So stay pissed at me if you want, I'm done. I'll see you whenever you feel like seeing me.

[Dean]  
Told you it won't happen again, what the fuck more do you want? You want an apology? Sorry Sam, I won't stalk you again

[Sam]  
That's not what I said. Follow your own advice and actually read my messages. I just wanted you to talk to me but I'm so done trying to make you do things you don't want to do so forget it. I'll talk to you later.

[Dean]  
Yeah, you just kept talking about how I was stalking you, sounded like a real compliment, everyone knows stalkers are the best! You made your point, stop fucking treating me like I'm an idiot

[Sam, five minutes later]  
I don't think you're an idiot.

I shouldn't have said that. I like it when you come see me at work. And I like it when you hang out over here.

I'm gonna go now before I do something else to piss you off. I'll talk to you later. I hope you come to dinner tomorrow.

\---

_Sam_

When Dean didn’t reply for two minutes Sam swore out loud and turned his phone off, throwing it down onto his bed. Fisting his hands painfully in his hair he stared down at his boots to avoid looking around.

His room reeked of sex. The bottom sheet had come half off the bed and there was a condom in the trash. Its gold foil wrapper lying on the floor caught the light from the window and winked up at him, brazen and taunting, and he just wanted to set it all on fire. Salt it and burn it and make Dean forget he’d ever come up here looking for him, ever seen this.

His eyelids trembled with the force with which he kept them tightly shut, as if that could take back time. Take Sam back. He didn’t know what woke him that morning, the bright sunlight pouring in through the window or the sound of a gruff voice breaking over the familiar syllables of his name, imagined breath hitching and coming out ragged and short, hot and damp against Sam’s neck. 

_Sammy!_

Sam had kept his eyes squeezed tight shut then, too, as sunshine and reality tried to break in, break this up. Twisting a hand in his hair he’d arched off the bed, hand working furiously under the sheets, gasping and panting and clinging to the last vestiges of a dream.

_Sammy…_

He’d groaned and turned to press his face into his pillow, wakefulness bringing nothing but shame and disappointment and he grew soft in his own hand before he gave it up and pounded his fist into the mattress, over and over again until his chest was heaving with exertion and nothing else. He pushed himself up on his hands to shake his damp hair out of his face and look around. His room was a mess and a half, but it was only his own clothes littering the floor. Ari, apparently, hadn’t stayed the night.

Those same clothes were still flung around the room, hours later. Sam hadn’t had time to clean up before running out the door for class. Hadn’t had time for anything except to plug in his phone and duck into the shower, feeling marginally more human when he got out to find his phone powered back up and blinking five new messages at him. All from Dean.

Last night at 1:35 AM: _I hope you got your drunk ass back home alright_

1:40 AM: _Better show up tomorrow, no matter how hungover you are_

1:43 AM: _Don't care if you bitch or smile or look green, just want to see your face there at breakfast, you got that?_

2:00 AM: _Earlier in the bar I was talking about how you grew up to be like that. You grew up so fine, Sam. You look so damn good, it's hard to look at you sometimes, but it's hard to look away too. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. There's your crazy world, brother_

And then this morning at 9:15 AM: _After all the song and dance you made about it, you'd better show up looking like shit and don't give me some piss poor excuse for not being here_  
And, with the feeling of watching a train going steadily off the tracks, he clicked back to his own sent messages to find what he’d said to his brother.

At 1:31 AM: _Your beautiful dean! When you smile t makes me want to kind of punch you cuz nothing should loook so good. World is a crazy place brother!_

Sam dropped down to sit on his bed and pressed his fingers to his temples, the same way he had that morning, rubbing at his forehead as though he could appease the massive headache building there and tuck away the dangling thread of something he was pretty sure he didn’t want to pull at. He lay down and settled his arm over his eyes, breathing through his mouth, sweating and shaking and feeling sick down to his bones.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_First week of August, 2008, Madison, WI_

_Sam_

 

In the two months since Dean arrived, he’d missed dinner with Sam and his housemates only a couple of times, usually because of work. He was supposed to always have Wednesday nights off but stuff happened sometimes and, as time passed, Dean picked up a couple friends of his own. Mostly guys from work that he’d do the odd favor for, staying late when they had something else going on, or who’d want to go out for beers after a rough day or toss around a football around until it got dark. Dean had even managed to set one of them up with one of Sam’s housemates, the young guy Sam had commented on once, and Sam was pretty sure Dean had been lying about his bad breath because Felicity didn’t seem to have any complaints. And so the number of people around their table Wednesday nights had increased. 

Sam sat in his room, looking out the window so often he wasn’t even pretending to himself that he was working, trying not to place bets on the odds of Dean showing up.

If he did, though, if he’d just show up on the doorstep, or better yet push his way into the house without knocking. If Sam could just hear Dean calling him a bitch and complaining to his housemates about what _shitty manners my little brother has, I swear I raised him better than this…_ Or even if he didn’t, even if he showed up still pissed-off and quiet, as long as he was there, showing Sam by not-talking about it that it would be okay, that they’d forget about it, Sam could maybe breathe again. 

It’d taken every scrap of self-restraint he had not to text Dean again last night, or at all today. If his brother wanted to talk to him, he’d be talking. Which was why Sam wasn’t hanging his hopes on him coming over for dinner. But still, what he was feeling now, desperate uncertainty with no one to turn to for a resolution, it reminded him of their long silence last spring. When Sam had pushed too hard and Dean had rescued them from the suicide trajectory Sam had put them on by stopping their texting cold turkey. And then showing up to fix things in person. So Sam allowed himself to hope a little bit. Dean was miles smarter about this than he made himself out to be. Maybe he didn’t know how to say no to Sam, but he knew how to stop saying yes.

Sam rubbed his eyes and looked down at Dad’s journal, open on the desk in front of him. Bobby had called an hour ago, asking for the details of a haunting the three of them had worked when Sam was seventeen, thinking he might have something similar on his hands down in Texas. Sam had flipped through the journal and read Bobby his dad’s notes, filling them in with what he remembered about the case while Bobby _mm-hm_ ed and interrupted with questions.

“I called your brother first,” Bobby had said before hanging up, “thinking he’d have the journal on him, if the two of you weren’t together.” Bobby sighed into the heavy silence when Sam didn’t reply. “Something goin’ on with him, Sam?”

Sam huffed softly, knowing that Bobby wouldn’t believe whatever bullshit line Sam fed him for a second, any more than Sam had believed Bobby when he ‘just happened’ to call on July 19th, two years to the day after John had died. At least Bobby knew them well enough to call Sam and not Dean on that day. 

He and Dean had been sitting by the lake with a bottle of Wild Turkey between them, watching the lights from the street at their back reflect across the still water. They didn’t talk about why they were there, drinking straight from a bottle of gut-rot that neither of them liked. Didn’t talk about Dad. After he got off the phone with Bobby, Sam turned to Dean but hadn’t gotten past opening his mouth before Dean stood and walked away, going to stand on the rocky beach with his hands in his pockets. Sam joined him after a minute, stooping to find a flat rock by feel in the dark. Hefting it thoughtfully he offered it to Dean. Dean was slow to smile but when he did it glinted in the dark. He took it and arced it out over the water in four solid skips. _Respectable_ , Sam told him, already searching for another stone, and got six on his first try.

Dean had taught him to skip rocks at the lake near Pastor Jim’s house, that last good summer before Sam suddenly knew everything, and nothing – especially not Dad – was good enough for him. 

_I saw that, little brother!_ Dean had called from the dock, proud as a peacock, the first time Sam got six skips in a row. 

_‘I’ve been watching you, little brother,’_ he’d texted him at the bar. 

That pride had still been there. Was always there. That pride permeated everything there was between them, everything that was wrapped up around them. Pride in each other. Love. Trust. That trust that Sam had betrayed. 

Talking to Bobby like everything was normal, telling him everything was fine, that he and Dean were fine, he was hit with a wave of longing so profound and unexpected he broke off on a cough and had to pretend like he’d swallowed his beer wrong. _I just want my brother_ was the shape it took. _I need my brother, and I_ need _us to be okay_.

And the lines of thought he’d been untangling while they stood their unacknowledged vigil for their father finally pulled loose from each other and he could see them as separate threads, finally. There was, _Dean is my brother. Dean is my whole family. Dean is everything._ And then there was, _I want more than that. I want all of him. I want everything._

\---

_Dean_

Dean pulled up outside Sam’s house and switched off the engine. He didn’t get out of the car; he stayed in his seat, squinting at the wheel without really seeing it. Despite making his mind up about coming over for dinner, he still needed a minute. Like brutal waves coming from behind, his experiences over the last few days had toppled him over again and again with their intensity. 

First, he’d been feeling all kinds of bold and hot for Sam, after not seeing him for four long days. In hindsight he was able to get his head out of his ass and see that they’d been riding some weirdo marry-go-round, ever since he’d arrived in Madison: no matter what ugly reality poked at his eyes, sooner or later there was the pink haze where he acted as if ‘head over heels for Sam’ was written under ‘Dean Winchester’ on his business card. (That was in the strange reality in which he _had_ a business card with his actual name on it.) He’d ended up in The Dane at the end of that fourth day, where even if smoking indoors was still allowed he’d have seen nothing but that pink stuff in the air. He’d shot some flirty messages Sam’s way, Sam had shot back a few heated looks his way that had made Dean want to slam some cash on the bar buying Sam’s shift out, then take him back to Dean’s place, throw him on the bed and not get up from him for twelve hours straight.

Then Dean had got frustrated and pathetic and pissed at how others got Sam’s attention and obscured Dean’s view and existed in Sam’s life. _Then_ he got fucking embarrassed at his own teenage reactions—Dean Winchester did not act like a jealous bitch over anyone and sure, if it was ever going to happen it might as well be for Sam, but no way was Dean sitting around to stew in the shameful experience.

But Sam had texted him later, about breakfast. Sam had texted him again in the middle of the night, calling Dean beautiful and what was Dean supposed to do with himself? Not sleep but toss and turn, was the answer; keeping his daydreaming on a leash while reading that message like ten times, thanks to finally having the sense to not delete it—a single jewel left to sparkle for real in a crown full of phantom memory gems. 

He’d caught some shuteye, an hour tops, before getting up at six. He’d changed his t-shirt twice. He’d felt elated driving to that goddamn Plaka place, feeling those butterflies in his stomach go nuts. 

Next thing, he’d been pissed at Sam. Pissed and fucking wounded both. _Sam_ had made a point that _Dean_ wasn’t going to make it; even worse, something in the whole situation had pushed Dean beyond a new point of no return. Only after Breakfast Morning had turned into Breakfast Disaster had it occurred to Dean just how much he’d counted on it to be a Breakfast Date. Minutes had ticked by, Dean’s coffee had been topped up a couple of times, the sound of the diner’s door opening had made his heart seize in hope more than a couple of times…yet the seat across from him remained empty. 

He’d come up with all kinds of reasons why Sam hadn’t shown up, ranging from blood-curdling—something had gotten Sammy and he was mincemeat—to blood-chilling—Sam was sending him a message that things had really gone too far the previous night and he did not want to have a date with his brother, not over breakfast, not over dinner, not in the real world. Sam wasn’t answering his phone, wasn’t texting back, until at last he was, making relief weaken Dean’s knees—thank fuck he was sitting in his car. It didn’t last long; all too soon he was just angry with Sam and his lame excuses. Another beat, and he was struggling again when Sam kept texting, sounding sincerely apologetic and endearingly hopeful to be forgiven. 

Until suddenly Sam was back on his fucking high horse, acting all insulted that Dean had jumped to the conclusions anyone in his shoes would have. Because when your brother texted you after one in the morning, his message full of enough spelling mistakes to give you _déjà vu_ of him at seven, you were entitled to conclude he was smashed. When he didn’t show up for breakfast and then texted you an hour and a half later talking about his cell’s battery dying and telling you he wasn’t at home, it wasn’t a great leap to conclude he’d drunk some more, then spent the night someplace else. But no; apparently Dean was being a presumptuous asshole for entertaining the very thought that Sam was less than a saint.

A woman calling something unintelligible after her husband yanked Dean back to the present. Still outside Sam’s house, still inside the Impala. The woman was standing at the front door of the second house after Sam’s; she had a fancy dress on with lots of bling, but she still looked like a classy chick—even the curlers on her head couldn’t spoil that. The husband was rushing out of the house to his car, looking smart too. He gave the woman a thumbs up while unlocking his car, then quickly slid in and drove off, going from zero to sixty in no time. Dean followed the disappearing Mazda with his gaze, before scrubbing his hands over his face. 

He reached for the cassette player, driven by the instinctive need to drown the voices in his head, but his fingers froze close to the player’s little mouth, then retreated to drop despondently onto his thigh. Damn it. He thought he’d gotten over what had happened next, after spending the better part of the last twenty-four hours driving himself crazy with alternatively obsessing and trying not to think about it.  
It wasn’t that Sam had had sex with some chick. It was that he’d done it after… After. 

Dean had been itching to read through their texts while he was waiting for Sam at the diner, but some irrational fear had stopped him: maybe he’d learned to build imaginary towers out of their old text exchanges, his stones made of treacherous memories. Maybe he’d look at this one that was real and find out that it actually looked completely innocent. The same adamant refusal to go through his phone had grabbed him after he’d walked out of Sam’s bedroom yesterday afternoon, all those little details that had painted the eloquent picture of sex acting like a giant eraser over everything that Dean thought had happened between him and Sam in the bar the night before. 

Not just the night before. The last couple of months.

The last couple of years.

Because he wasn’t crazy. Funny that. The cold shower of Sam’s absence at the diner and the subsequent discovery that Sam had gone home not to think of ‘beautiful Dean’ but to bang some chick, seemed to have flipped the switch on the spotlight that had been flickering for months, for _months_ —and now it was bright and unblinking. Now Dean was damn sure he wasn’t crazy. Last night he had finally re-read their messages and there were no do-overs on that one, no backsies: they had flirted with the kind of ease that only people who expected reciprocity had. Like a mating ritual or something, and Dean might have never done that via text, but the ins and outs of it were too familiar for him to doubt his perceptions. He was an incorrigible flirt, Sam had told him once. Sam knew what his brother was like when he flirted, Dean knew himself. Two had tangoed in The Dane that night. If Dean could have found his way to denial, he would have taken the damn road and saved himself the pain. But any glimmer of doubt was extinguished by Sam’s last message, drunken yet laser focused on making Dean understand just how Sam saw him. Beautiful.

Clearly not beautiful enough, though. Just as Dean knew the flirting game like a pro, he could smell sex from a mile. In this case literally, and from extremely close proximity. Yesterday afternoon he’d driven to Sam’s after all, unsure whether he wanted to keep fighting, make up, or make out. He’d walked into Sam’s bedroom intent on waiting for him and figuring out once and for all which way things would go between them, only to have his decision nuked by what greeted him: the unmistakably sinuous curves of a rumpled bed, the smell of the kind of bodily fluids that allowed humankind to continue its stubborn existence. The condom wrapper peeking out from under the pillow on the floor, like the pillow had thrown itself off the cliff of the bed in a desperate ‘move along, nothing to see here’ act. It was an abysmal performance. Dean wasn’t impressed. He walked out after barely a minute. 

Sam had flirted back and suggested a breakfast date, then taken a girl home and used protection like the responsible, thinking grown-up he was. Then they’d argued via text _again_ , and Dean had punched some things, and he might have almost started to cry. He hadn’t slept for two days, he had eaten very little, he had thought far too much. As far as he could see there were two options in front of them: one, keep on with this destructive, oblique game of shadows until they were broken up beyond repair or stow their crap for good and salvage their relationship as brothers, nothing more. 

Put like that, it wasn’t even a real choice.

Three boys walked up the sidewalk past the Impala, one of them pushing a bike. The bike looked battered and fixed up more times than the number of its many years. The boy pushing it was the one in the middle, a little dude who looked like most little dudes between nine and thirteen. He was holding onto the bike with both hands on the handles, back straight, watching to keep the bike straight, too. Short brown hair, sunburnt ears and legs like sticks, and for the life of him Dean couldn’t tell why the picture was making his throat close up. He put his hands on his baby’s wheel, absent-mindedly running them up and down a little. He was so damn tired. Tired with the deceptive lull of carefree summer days and Sammy never far, with the bouts of fighting, with all the damn drama, also never far. Tired with being wound up over and over again—only this morning he had reached the point when he’d been willing to give the option of him and Sam not talking, like ever, some consideration. Okay, maybe apart from asking to pass the salt in all the varied ways that request came up in their lives—but that was it. 

He sniffed and got out of the car, thoroughly done with thinking. He walked over to the front door, where he called himself a liar, because apparently this was where he commenced the second act of his hovering outside places where Sam lived. 

There were going to be other people in there to act like buffers so he and Sam wouldn’t need to talk beyond the bare minimum necessary to prevent curious glances. Maybe Sam was done with it all, too. But maybe he was going to give Dean the cold shoulder, in which case Dean was going to tell him to fuck off and then just drive away from this city and stay gone, for like six months! No, Sam had said he was hoping Dean would show up. Maybe this was Sam extending an olive branch. Or communicating to Dean that they should continue living this double life, one in the light, one in the shadows. Who knew what happened in Sam’s head? How could he say the things he did in his messages; how could he look at Dean with the heat he had, putting on that show behind the bar, cocking his hip at him, blushing so pretty while Dean gazed, lapping up the view—

The front door opened, making Dean start. Sam stood in the frame, hair a little damp from a recent shower, his pale pink shirt with the flower pattern giving his skin a healthy glow. He looked like a casual reminder that Dean shouldn’t conjure up militant fantasies of storming off or keeping things strictly brotherly, without first passing the ultimate test to his resolve—actually facing Sam. 

“Are you going to stay out here all day?” Sam’s tone was cautiously teasing, but his eyes just cautious. “I thought bedroom windows were your choice of lurking ground.”

Dean was so busy loosening up from the whole bunch of knots being undone in him that he took a moment to realize Sam had referred to one of their text exchanges—one of the first, back when they’d been barely entering these treacherous waters. 

“Dude, your bedroom is on the third floor,” he retorted, focusing with great relief on the obvious issue with Sam’s statement. “Only Loch Ness monsters like you could accomplish that kind of lurking.” He lifted an eyebrow at Sam whose eyes were joining the overall glowing picture of health that was his face. “You going to block the door all night?” 

Sam’s lips twitched and he stepped aside. Dean walked in without looking at him. 

\---

_Sam_

Dean had hesitated before coming in and Sam decided to be grateful for that fact without reading too much into it because it gave him a second to catch his breath after bolting down the stairs like he had a demon on his heels. He shook his still-damp hair back from his face, sucked in a controlled breath, and reached for the door. Dean was half-turned away when Sam pulled it open and his eyes widened slightly then quickly narrowed as he gave the slightest jerk of surprise and turned to face him, his hand rising halfway to his lips before he dropped it again.

It was a gesture Sam would know with his eyes shut and, thinking that, he clamped down on the impulse to grab Dean in a hug and, like, never let him go. Or something. Dean didn't really look to be in the mood for a hug, though, so Sam just leaned in the doorway and said the first stupid thing that came to mind.

“Are you going to stay out here all day?” He crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly. “I thought bedroom windows were your choice of lurking ground.”

Dean just blinked at him for a long moment, giving Sam plenty of time to kick himself for saying something so similar to accusing Dean of stalking him. As though Dean’s full attention on nobody but him was anything short of everything he wanted. He’d only meant to refer to Dean lurking beneath that suspect’s window back in January, texting Sam for company. It had been the first to set the tone for their late-night conversations, and it was nothing but a good memory for Sam. 

He wondered miserably if everything was going to be like that, now, if nothing was ever going to feel safe again. But then Dean was lifting his chin and frowning up at him. “Dude, your bedroom is on the third floor. Only Loch Ness monsters like you could accomplish that kind of lurking.”

Sam wanted to laugh, that was the flavor the overwhelming relief took on as it bubbled up in the wake of Dean’s stupid joke about his stupid comment. He hadn't made up his mind if letting it loose was a good idea or not before Dean was taking a step into his personal space, projecting confidence but not actually getting close enough to shove past him without Sam's say-so. “You going to block the door all night?” 

Sam smiled then, a small twist of his lips, and stepped aside to wave Dean in. 

His housemates were gathering in the kitchen. It was Jasmine and Kate's night and the aroma of whatever they were cooking -- smelled like rosemary and garlic sauce and Sam's stomach had only recently settled down to the point where food was appealing instead of nausea-inducing -- mingled with the sounds of their relaxed banter, swirling together in an enticing amalgam that drew on his senses like a magnet. He desperately wanted to just follow Dean into the kitchen and grab a couple beers for them, ask Kate what he could do to help, and let it all pull them under. Follow the current back to normalcy. 

But, he couldn’t. Not just like that. He’d watched Dean from his window, watched him sit in the Impala and stare blankly ahead, running his hands unconsciously over the wheel. He’d thought for a minute that he was looking at the physical manifestation of Dean’s curt, weary texts the night before. But looking at him up close, Sam wasn’t sure. He was weary, no two ways about it. His skin was dull and pale and there were shadows under his eyes and there was no spark in him past that brief attempt at humor that had been his ticket to get in the door. Sam wasn’t even sure that Dean would hit back right now, if Sam tried to pick a fight with him, and that thought broke through the heaviness that had been weighing him down, made him reach after Dean as he moved past him, his hand landing on Dean's shoulder but sliding down his arm as his brother turned and his fingers brushed against Dean's bare skin just under the hem of his sleeve. "Dean, hold up a second."

Dean’s gaze leapt to his face and then just as quickly moved away as he dragged his hand over his mouth. It was classic _Do we really have to do this now, Sam?_ and Sam suddenly didn't know what to do with his own hands. Tried leaving them hanging at his sides but they felt like dead weights. He tucked them into his pockets and rolled his shoulders, hunching a little and rocking back on his heels so he wasn't towering over Dean quite as much.

He didn’t know what to do with the fact that he was taller than Dean any more than he knew what to do with the guilt that was gnawing on his ribcage like a wild beast – not because he’d stood Dean up, but because he’d taken someone else to bed. And not even just that – the fact that he’d been so certain that he’d hurt Dean by doing it. His own weird, one-sided guilt he could have handled, he’d been handling it since he was a kid learning to balance his sense of his own self-importance with the equally certain belief that he’d never be quite good enough for Dean. That was a whole different demon than the one he’d been wrestling with the past two days; the one that stared at him with Dean’s eyes and spoke with Dean’s voice and demanded to know how Sam could do that to him. 

It had been a busy couple of weeks and that night in the bar was the first time Sam had seen Dean in at least four days. Considering they'd spent more than four months apart earlier in the year, and almost four years when Sam was at Stanford, he should probably feel ridiculous about the fact that four days felt like three and a half too many, but whatever. Looking up to find his brother watching him from across the bar like Sam was the best thing Dean had seen in the past four decades – and Dean wasn’t even thirty – had made him feel ten feet tall and sexy as hell and he’d let Dean know it. The way he’d caught Dean’s eye over a customer’s shoulder and just…looked at him. Let Dean look. Felt the heat creep his neck and knew Dean could see it from where he sat but didn’t move or look away, just gazed for as long as he could get away with and smiled like there was nothing else in the world he had to do.

But of course there was, and as the night started to get busier, and when Nick nudged him to ask him if work wasn’t getting in the way of his social life after catching him for the second time slipping his phone back into his pocket, Sam had started to feel the constant pressure of Dean’s eyes on him as something else he didn’t know what to do with. Like, at all. For every inch he gained in height just knowing Dean was watching him, he wanted to sink into the floor under the weight of what he wanted. So Dean’s final text and the two-fingered salute he threw him on his way on the door came as a relief even as he was slammed with a feeling of palpable loss the second Dean was out of his sight. He’d ducked into the bathroom not five minutes later and pulled out his phone to ask (demand) that Dean join him for breakfast. And the rest was a history Sam didn’t have words to explain. 

"Are we okay?" Sam asked, when Dean's narrowed eyes started asking him if he was going to get to the point sometime today. His eyes that looked tired and wary but, otherwise, oddly normal.

Dean gave a curt nod. "I'm here, aren't I? We're okay, Sam."

 _Just like that?_ Sam wondered. When had things ever been so easy for them? 

"Okay." Sam nodded too. “Well. I just. I feel…honestly, Dean, I feel like a dick, for…everything.” 

Everything. Yeah. _What’s ‘everything,’ Sam?_ Not for the messages he’d sent, or for the way he’d looked at Dean, the way he’d let Dean look at him. _I’m sorry about how I was so hot for you that I took a safe person home to take the edge off because I was seriously fantasizing about jumping you at breakfast?_ Yeah. Everything. Including the fact that he wasn’t at all sure that Dean wouldn’t have let him. _What if, what if, what if._

 

\---

_Dean_

One of the most confounding things about Sam was the way he could project his size at will. He could be a big guy, a freaking real big guy; he could be average Joe, maybe just a bit on the tall side; he could even turn invisible which on its own was a thing of wonder, what with Sam being stunning and striking enough for ten people. Or more like ten thousand. Ten thousand poor bastards probably walked the earth looking like washed out lab mice because Sammy existed and some balance had to be restored in the universe.  
The version where Sam looked small was something Dean cherished more than he would ever admit out loud. He was witnessing it now after Sam had reached out and stopped Dean from escaping inside the house, hand warm on Dean’s skin. This version of Sam was constructed of all the small gestures: the hunched shoulders, the hands in the jeans pockets, the gaze up while the head was bowed. There was something so sincere in Sam when he was like that that Dean didn’t even need to hear his words.

“I feel like a dick, and I'm sorry,” Sam was saying. “And I just...wanted to make sure you knew I meant it." He gave Dean a tense smile.

Dean felt his own lips stretch in what was probably far more melancholic than what was appropriate so soon after the word ‘dick’ had been said out loud. He didn’t know how to communicate about something that was always left unsaid. It was like trying to play poker with no cards. Hell, he sometimes didn’t know how to communicate at all. But he wasn’t Spock; he had feelings in spades and they wanted him to do something about them, only his arsenal of coping wasn’t that vast. Drinking, that worked. Shoving back down with equal force or with whatever force he could muster was a favorite. But Sam looking at him the way he did, apologizing from the heart… Irrational guilt—irrational, because Dean so hadn’t been the dick in the situation; a powerful impulse to reassure that seemed to be his go-to response at the sight of Sam’s distress; a surge of stupid love for his stupid brother, followed by a singeing hurt that his stupid brother had played him like a stupid yo-yo… These could not be drowned in the finest scotch or shoved down, not in the hallway of Sam’s house with delicious home cooking aromas permeating the air and Sam, gorgeous and smart, showing Dean that he had been mysteriously listening to Dean’s thoughts out there in the car. This was Dean’s prompt to grab at it and turn a new leaf.

“It’s fine, Sammy," he said. “Can we just forget about it?”

_I want to forget. I want to forget that we are brothers who push each other’s buttons and strive towards each other in ways no one around us does, no one around us can understand. No one ever explained to us how to be close the way we were and now I want to smile at you with my best grin, give you a piece of the sun as if the sun were my heart, because that’s how it feels when you smile at me, little brother, so by right you should have some of the sun back. All I want, okay? All I want is, I want to have some dinner, smile at you like the sun, and forget we are brothers who hurt each other far too easily sometimes.  
Better still, forget we are brothers, period._

“Something smells good,” Dean went on quickly at the sight of Sam’s hopeful eyes on him. “Come on, dude, I missed one meal yesterday because of you and you said you wanted to make it up to me, there’s your chance.” Dean nodded determinedly, face growing mock serious. “Take me to the food.”

Sam gave out a soft laugh and shook his head. “All right then.” He pointed in the direction of the dining room with his chin. “You know the way.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_First week of August, 2008, Madison, WI_

_Dean_

 

The dinner at Sam’s house was nice. Kate and Jasmine had tried out some Central American—or was it Central European?—chicken recipe and as ever, Dean was all in favor of their culinary sense of adventure. There was awesome garlic bread and he didn’t mind that the two chickens looked like they were giving birth to the whole lemons that were stuffed in each of them. The meat was so delicious he was ready to eat the freaking bones. 

It was as if his sense of smell and taste had come back after a long holiday far, far away, and their reunion with Dean was a real tear-jerker.

There were eight people around the table and just as he had expected everyone was talking, occasionally interrupting each other, so he and Sam just added in a comment or two, no need to speak much to others or to each other. Dean relished that more than he could say. Eating a good dinner, the chatter of others giving his brain a green light to stop thinking—Dean was feeling lighter by the minute.

Sam kept casting him the kind of dewy-eyed glances that a vegetarian would have given the chicken if they’d had to cook it. His thigh was ghosting near Dean’s though, and once or twice Sam shifted, the contact intensifying for a brief moment. Dean didn’t care to think about it. He was feeling fortified by nourishment and by the warmth of normalcy, so soon enough he found himself sprawling a bit, until his knee was permanently brushing against Sam's. Sam didn't shift for a long while. 

A few times everyone laughed at something and Dean joined them - the bubbles of the sound in his chest felt at home there, despite the fact that he was really just mirroring everyone else’s good feelings. His eyes found Sam, who was laughing, too, looking at Felicity. A pleasant current seemed to run between the sight of Sam’s face and the point where their knees were touching, sending sparks to random points all over Dean's body. Somewhere far away in his mind an alarm bell tried to get his attention, but Dean had had enough scares in the last two days to last him for two months. He wanted another beer badly, but it was probably going to be a bad idea to drive after four of them. The current turned downright electric at the thought of staying here for the night, _rolling in bed with Sam_ , bodies touching with a good, honest reason to do so. Five, six, seven hours straight of Sam being unfailingly close, solid muscle and soft voice...

Dean clasped his thighs closed tightly and sat up, catching Sam throwing him a glance in his peripheral vision. Six voices around them went on in the throes of raucous laughter so he had to tip his head closer to Sam’s ear.

“I’m going to head out soon," he murmured.

Sam pulled his head back to meet Dean’s eyes. “Okay,” he said in a beat. “It’s kind of early,” he added, with an odd tilt of his head. 

“It’s ten o’clock, dude. I’ve been here for like three hours.”

“So?” 

“So you’ve got to study and sleep or whatever, and I have to drive myself home, have another beer and watch some TV. I need my beauty sleep, man.”

Sam rolled his eyes, smirking. Dean felt almost mindless with how buoyed he was by Sam’s asshole-little-brother attitude. _It’s all good between us. None of that other stuff matters._

“Dude, you _are_ getting old,” Sam said. “You going to put a mask on while you watch your favorite show?” His mouth danced sassily around the word ‘show’. 

Dean gave him a kick under the table. “Shut up,” he said, making Sam laugh. 

They looked at each other in silence for a couple of seconds, Sam’s fingers drawing invisible patterns on the tablecloth. “You’re okay to drive?” he asked.

Dean gave him an awesome _‘Bitch, please!’_ look. 

“All right, all right,” Sam said quickly. His gaze fell to his lap and he seemed to hesitate. “There’s a pretty cool article on mummies I found in an online magazine. You want to come upstairs and check it out?”  
Dean didn’t know what was more adorable, the forced slowing down of the words that had tried to rush out of Sam’s mouth, his downcast eyes that somehow suggested Sam was mumbling while in fact he was speaking quite clearly, or the blatant way in which Sam was trying to get them to hang out. 

More time together. Best and worst idea in the world. _Guess you should have thought about that before you moved to Madison_ , said a sardonic voice in Dean’s head.

Then the implications of Sam’s exact words reached him, swiftly acting like a cold shower. Kate and Jasmine must have cooked that chicken with some weed, the only explanation for how quickly Dean had forgotten he’d been in Sam’s room only the previous day. Yeah, nothing was going to make even sitting on that bed feel all right at the moment. There was trying to be brothers again and locking up all that other stuff in a box fit for Dad’s hideout and then there was punching yourself in the chest by doing stuff you weren’t ready to do, because you were not damn Spock after all.

Dean cleared his throat, meeting Sam’s gaze. He couldn’t say how he sensed it, but Sam was definitely not comfortable with his own suggestion, either.

“I don’t even want to know what your definition of ‘pretty cool’ is,” Dean told him out of the corner of his mouth. Kate had stepped up on a metaphorical soapbox, passionately arguing some point that Dean vaguely suspected had something to do with penguins, оr at least the Arctic. 

“Fine,” Sam said in a rush. “Stay ignorant.”

“Yeah, because mummies are so _in_ this season.”

“Dude, we might have to deal with one one day.” Sam’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “They’re practically human remains and bandages.”

“I knew it. This is so far from cool, it’s embarrassing.” 

Sam blinked at him, then shrugged awkwardly. He looked away, but not before Dean caught that his downcast eyes were turning dejected.

Then in the space of one breath to the next, the idea of getting up and driving off without Sam transformed from something abstract for Dean to an actual feeling of here and now—a crushing kind of reality.

“Hey,” he told Sam, eyes quickly running over the other faces around the table, before reaching Sam’s. Something flipped in Dean’s chest at how alert Sam was looking in anticipation of Dean’s next words. 

“You want to go for a drive instead?” Dean’s eyebrows lifted knowingly. “Baby’s much cooler than any article.”

\---

_Sam_

Sam had been so swept up in the current of _normal, normal, everything’s fine, we’re good,_ that Dean’s abrupt move to depart threw him badly off and before he thought about it he was suggesting they go hang out upstairs in Sam’s room. Because that was an awesome idea. The murderer leading the investigator to the scene of his crime, convinced of his own invincibility until the heart starts beating under the floorboards. Well played, Sam.

"Hey," Dean said, and Sam's eyes snapped to his face. He watched Dean dart a glance around the table, until his gaze finally came to rest on Sam's face. Sam went still, waiting. "You want to go for a drive instead? Baby’s much cooler than any article.”

Sam’s laugh was pure relief because yeah, she really was. And he didn't know why he'd doubted for a second that Dean would come up with something a hundred times better than sitting side-by-side hunched over a laptop and pretending to give a damn about mummies like it was the good old days and staying up to research a case was preferable to trying to sleep on some creaky motel bed. 

He couldn’t even let himself think about his own bed right now. He knocked his knee against Dean's, reclaiming the contact Dean had tried to steal away from. He was grinning when he asked, "Can I drive?"

The way Dean's lips instantly drew into a protective line made Sam grin all the broader, and he fought to produce his best version of his 'princess face,' as he understood it. He'd still never succeeded in getting Dean to describe it to him but he thought it involved an innocent tilt of his head and his most earnest, trustworthy gaze. Or maybe that was the puppy dog look, he honestly didn't know and, a minute later, didn't care, because whatever it was, it had worked. A quick drag of his tongue over his lower lip, a dart of eyebrows up towards his hairline like they were trying to hide, and Dean was saying, "All right," and pushing back his chair.

Victory swelling in his chest, Sam did the same and stood up, drawing all eyes to the two of them. 

"I'll meet you out front?" he said to Dean, who nodded. 

"We're gonna head out for a bit," he said to the table-in-general. And, to Kate's narrowed eyes, he pressed his hands together in supplication, turning his mojo on her. "I will do _all_ of the dishes on Sunday, I promise."

She gave an unconvincing glare and pointed her fork at him. "You'd better."

"I will." Sam stepped around the table to bend over and plant a kiss to the top of her head. She swatted him away, and Sam escaped up the stairs.

In his room, he woke up his computer and clicked around until he got back to the article on mummies he’d found after Bobby called, just in case Dean brought it up later. Then he closed the laptop with the page still up and stuffed it into his messenger bag along with Dad’s journal. Rummaging through his closet he came up with the two-thirds-full bottle of Jameson he'd been hoarding, and put that in too. Grabbing his wallet off his desk, he turned out the lights, closed the door, and went slowly down the stairs to join Dean outside.

His brother was leaning against the Impala, head tipped back to survey the sky above. Sam joined him, standing shoulder-to-shoulder and gazing up. Only a few brash stars were visible here and there, but Sam had the feeling it was a clear night, if only they could get out from under the fluorescent haze that shrouded the city. He slipped his fingers into Dean's pocket for the keys, and had unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat before Dean had decided on his reaction to that particular invasion of personal space. It made Sam giddy, it always had, even when they were kids, that feeling of _what’s Dean’s is mine_ , and Sam hardly waited until Dean's door slammed shut before he was easing them away from the curb and into the night, away from downtown.

They drove in peaceful silence, letting the car do all the talking. She grumbled along the city streets and started to purr as soon as Sam slipped her into the smooth-flowing veins of the highway, pointing them out of town. The radio went to commercial break and Dean pulled a random cassette out of the box. It blared to life halfway through 'Ramble On' and Dean said, “ _Aw_ hell _yeah_ ,” under his breath and rewound to the beginning. He sang along, quietly at first, until Sam joined in on the chorus and before long they were both belting out the words at the top of their lungs. Windows down, the summer air was sweet as honey, and Sam didn't care if his voice cracked as he tried to hit the high notes; he just sang louder as they jetted into the black country night.

The tape flipped as Sam found the exit he was looking for, and 'I Put a Spell on You' flowed out of the speakers like Screamin' Jay's voice had turned into something solid and sticky that could ooze into a person's brain cavity and take them over. 

_I put a spell on you because you mine. You better stop the things that you do. I ain’t lyin’—_  
Sam reached out and flipped it off. 

"I'm sick of this song."

Dean shot him an incredulous look. "You love this song!"

Sam shook his head once, then shrugged. "I guess it got old."

Dean scoffed, but didn't press the point. They drove in silence for less than a minute before Sam blurted out, "You know what else is getting old? Fighting like that."

He heard Dean swallow and shift in his seat. "No argument there."

Sam exhaled nervously and checked his mirrors. As though there was anything to see. It was full dark on a Wednesday evening, and as they left town the world had drawn in upon itself, shrinking until there was nothing in it except the close darkness of the Impala and the two souls she carried. Even the wind through the windows didn't seem to break the illusion that this was it, and outside was nothing.

"Dean, I've been thinking…"

He paused, darting a quick sideways glance at Dean, expecting some kind of wiseass interruption. But Dean was just sitting there, still as stone with his eyes narrowed and Sam knew that if there was anywhere for him to go, Dean would be about two seconds from bolting. Sam let out a breath in a rush and rubbed the back of his neck. Chest rising and falling shallowly, he felt like a stone skipping across still water. Like he was just grazing the surface of the life he’d always wanted and never truly thought he’d have: home, friends, school, stability, Dean.

_Don’t fuck it up, Sammy. Don’t you dare fuck this up._

"Look, man,” he said, cringing a bit at the impersonal tone of his voice but carrying on because he had to. “I don’t…I don’t want to fight with you anymore. I don’t want to pick fights with you. I don’t mean to, you know, I just…I do things, and I…I disappoint you, I know I do.”

He felt like he could fry an egg on his face and Kate and Jasmine’s awesome dinner was churning in his stomach. He fumbled forward, not giving Dean a chance to reply because what if he didn’t, or worse, what if his response was to agree. “I keep thinking about what you said that one time, after that big fight we had months ago, what you said about Dad, and how it was with us right before I left for Stanford. How me and him could hardly breathe for bitching at each other." 

Sam forced himself to stop, to swallow, to take a deep breath in and let it out through his nose. Dean wasn’t making a sound. "I know you don't want to hear about any of this psychology stuff, but I keep thinking about how, when kids are growing up, they're supposed to rebel, they're _supposed_ to push against their authority figures to see what gives and what holds. It's just, for most kids, acting out doesn't lead to their brother almost bleeding out in a field because they're too busy arguing with their dad to realize he's missing."

Sam lifted a hand to cut Dean off before he could argue for his share of the blame for that disaster. "All I'm saying is, back then? That script for how to rebel, it wasn’t written for us. So now it’s like… It seems like I'm doing it again. Like this is, I don’t know, like this is my second adolescence or something, right here. And… and I feel like…” 

Sam shook his head, trying to find a way back around to his point. Thinking about that night by the lake, the threads he’d untangled, the separate desires he’d traced back to their single source. He looked over at Dean again. Dean wasn't looking at him, his eyes were fixed on his hands with his head bowed but cocked to one side, all his other senses trained on Sam. Sam's heart tripped over itself and took off for the races.

"So now, it's like, maybe it's stupid, but you know, when most kids start trying to figure out who they are, they push themselves against their parents, cuz they're safe. You know? Maybe you'll get in trouble, but you'll never be... cut off. That's the key, right? To know _home_ will always be there, like what’s that line? “Home is the place they have to let you in.” That’s the point, right? To know there's somewhere you'll be safe. That's what parents are supposed to be for. So. I mean… What I'm trying to say, Dean, is, I think I've been putting that on you. Like, all of it. Acting like you're supposed to be… everything. Like you’re supposed to be my home, my parents and my brother and my best friend and – and just… _everything,_ Dean. More than everythi—dammit!”

Sam stepped on the brakes and leaned on the steering wheel, sending them swerving into the graveled drive he’d almost missed swept along by the dark and the current of his confession. They came to a stop in front of the gate and Dean turned to him with a look like a thundercloud to demand what the hell he thought he was doing. Sam dropped his hands from the wheel, not quite able to meet his eyes, and told him meekly that this was the entrance to a park where he thought they'd be able to see the stars. Dean just looked at him for several long seconds while Sam ran through about a dozen ways he could quietly commit suicide because he'd just about spilled the holy heart of his very being to his brother and now Dean was going to flay him alive for being cruel to his baby. 

It was a long moment of silence, but then Dean barked a laugh and buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking for a quick couple of heartbeats before he undid his seatbelt with a click and leaned forward, peering out the front window.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? There’s a pretty serious gate here, dude.”

"It's not locked," Sam mumbled. "That chain's just latched with a pin."

Dean fished a flashlight from the glove box and slid out of the car. He had the gate open in less than ten seconds and Sam eased the Impala through it. Dean latched it again behind them and hopped back in, demanding to hear how Sam had known about the chain.

"This is the place I told you about," Sam said, flicking off the headlights and guiding them up the gravel road by starlight. "Where that haunting's supposed to happen on the fall equinox? I checked it out a couple months ago."

They were very definitely not supposed to be there in the middle of the night, but they were also half an hour outside the city limits with Dane County Sheriff badges hot off the press and kicking around somewhere. The Impala grumbled to a stop at the top of the hill, and Sam put her in park. He waited, thinking Dean might be about to say something, but then he was following his brother's lead as Dean opened the door and stretched in the night air. Sam leaned back in to snag his backpack out of the back seat, dropping it on the ground before clambering up on the hood of the car to sit back against the windshield. 

"What's in the bag?" Dean asked after minute, nudging it with his toe. Sam lifted his eyebrows and Dean opened it, emerging with the bottle of Jameson and a pleased look playing about his lips. Sam just smiled and watched him, feeling like a puppet with his strings cut. He let his head roll back, looking up to see the Milky Way in full glorious blaze above them, and let out a low, satisfied hum.

\---

_Dean_

Although it felt like a special night, and not only because he and Sam had managed to patch things up, Dean had to admit their driving adventure after dinner hadn’t had the most auspicious of starts. As usual when he was spinning tales from the Great Land of Sam’s Head, Sammy had become pretty absorbed in whatever he was saying. In this case it meant he nearly missed the entrance to the park he’d been driving them to. His impromptu confessional was literally derailed, resulting in Baby being treated as if she was some cheap old thing you could just drive into a goddamn ditch. 

Dean would still rather that than having to ponder what Sam had been trying to tell him. It had sounded like thoughts, but Dean was able to smell the _feelings_ right underneath. 

He had expected the trees in the park to have fucking leaves of gold judging by the way Sam had risked Baby’s life just to get there. But it was an ordinary park, and Dean just had to see the humor in the situation. Their relationship had gone through so many sharp turns and swerves in the last couple of days, it was fitting they’d end up almost crashing the car. The car, the one place they’d inhabited together more than any other place. Dean wanted to tell Sammy that the incident was proof that talking about feelings was a dangerous business that might even get you killed. But his little brother donned his best mortified expression and Dean just laughed, the sound clearing up some remaining slush from his chest and letting him notice for the first time just how silent everything around them was.

Then the clear night and the swigs of whiskey made talking seem almost like an insult to the world. So they didn’t talk. They stretched out on the hood of the car, like they used to do when they were constantly on the move, and they let it go; at least Dean did. Memories, fights, confessions, inner turmoil, the evil and the divine of this world—it all faded into a distant background, while they drank from the same bottle, watched the stars hanging low above them like the vastest vineyard in the universe, and breathed in the quiet.

It was a different kind of quiet than the one in the last couple of weeks before the Breakfast Disaster; Dean was able to distinguish between the two as clearly as he could between the red and green of traffic lights. That quiet before, it’d been deceitful. It had lulled Dean into a false sense of security and made him believe he was just a guy, just an ordinary guy who was crazy about someone, so going to his workplace, flirting with him, making a move on him was the most natural thing in the world. Only of course the ‘someone’ was none other than his little brother. Not only was there nothing natural about that but a straightforward happy end was as likely as Dean quitting hunting and becoming a gardener. 

He was gazing at the sky, the object of his reflections a serene, solid presence next to him, and the truth swam out from the blackness behind the generous smattering of bright stars. Realization stood in stark relief against the mundane roll of his and Sam’s lifelong interactions: ever since Dean had arrived in Madison every ambiguous smile of Sam’s, every lingering brush of his fingers, every intent flick of his eyes to Dean’s mouth had accumulated in Dean’s heart and made him lose his sense of perspective. 

When he thought about it, they hadn’t actually argued in all of that time. They’d hung out at each other’s houses and Dean had stopped by The Dane at least a couple of times a week. They’d gone out to get a drink together more times than in the two years they’d spent on the road. Dean had worked a few hunts with Sam landing him a hand with research, but still never leaving Madison. It had felt almost right, though; or at least Dean hadn’t felt the need to challenge his brother with a word or a pointed silence. The acceptance that this was Sam’s life now had become less forced with every day, possibly aided by how organic Dean’s inclusion in it was. 

Sam for his part hardly had any days when he acted like he’d woken up with half a lemon in his mouth. Hell, Sam had shown those good teeth of his practically every day, dimples acting like the opening curtains for countless encores of his blinding smile. Sam had been sun-kissed tips of hair and sin-kissed muscles. He’d been light-hearted, and amenable, and coy—if coy also meant sexy as fuck. They got along, they had fun. Sam had stayed over at Dean’s a few times, slept pressed along Dean’s side, making them both sweat bullets. His arms and legs kept forgetting themselves in his sleep, driving Dean crazy with how they were everywhere, trying to redefine whose body they belonged to. Dean didn’t get much sleep on those nights, battling the urge to roll to his side and press his chest against Sam or roll Sam onto his stomach and fuck him through the mattress. He had lost count of how often he started growing hard just breathing in Sam’s scent and feeling the electricity of his skin wherever it was touching Dean’s. He cursed this fucked up arrangement while simultaneously praising whatever deity was responsible for sending him the sweet torture. 

He never told Sam he couldn’t stay the night and never went to sleep on the couch.

But it was the mornings that tricked him the worst. Unguarded and shy or boisterous and sassy, Sam’s face seemed to send Dean every variation of the invitation ‘I’m yours, come and get me.’ 

Seemed. Funny word. One day Dean was going to check if other languages had it, or used it as much.  
The tranquility of the night scene called for him to push away all thoughts about the past and focus on the simpler things in life. What was it about happiness? Wanting what you had not what you wanted…or something? Dean had spent far too long just wanting; time to learn that his lot in life was to take what he had and be goddamn grateful. 

He kept sliding further down the hood as the night progressed, exchanging a few restful, brief back and forths with Sammy. They emphasized the profound feeling of companionship Dean had never felt with another human being. He didn’t quite understand the concept of loneliness. The closest thing he understood was the feeling of…Samlessness. But Sam was there with him. Dean couldn’t imagine a world without Sam. Unbearable—literally impossible to bear. He avoided thinking about that at all costs.

After a long stretch of silence he finally felt something bubble up in him. It was kind of interesting that it was a comment on what Sam had been saying earlier.

“You know…” Dean’s voice came out surprisingly throaty. “I never rebelled. Never really pushed against Dad or anyone else.” 

Sam was listening to him carefully, his breathing calm and even, yet loud enough to give Dean’s words a smooth roll off his tongue. 

“I mean, sure, I was a cocky bastard and I liked to act like I was the boss of me, especially in all those schools we went to.” He folded his arms across his chest, squinting forward. “But most of the time it was just an act. I think I was just trying to…I don’t know. I mean, if you keep it cool, you don’t have to really get mixed up with people, you know. Make friends, get involved with a girl, really involved, with the talking and the emotions…” Dean made a small sweeping circle with his right hand. He paused to gather his next thought; it wasn’t sluggish, but it didn’t feel frantic, either. He’d had enough liquor in his bloodstream to turn him maudlin, yet he wasn’t heading that way. Oddly enough, at that moment he understood that feelings had their place, and they deserved to be respected. They existed, heedless of whether Dean Winchester was afraid of them or tried to ignore them.

“My point is that it didn’t happen,” he went on, casting Sam a glance to find him watching with an open, attentive face. Dean remembered distantly wondering how he could ever think that Sam listening to witnesses and families was anything like this. It was invested, true; but never as whole-hearted, all-consumed as this felt. “The rebellion thing, as you grow up,” he finished.

“Maybe because you still haven’t,” Sam said, earnest and solemn. Dean couldn’t help but bark out a quick laugh, then swat at Sam’s thigh. He folded his arms across his chest tighter and wriggled down further, feeling his body relax. “Eh, maybe you’re right.”

He could sense Sam was waiting for him to continue, but just telling Sam this was a point in itself. There were no other points Dean wanted to make. A few minutes later the quiet became soft and thick like cotton candy, and then he must have dozed off. When his eyes fluttered barely open some indefinite time later, he found he’d turned on his left side. His jacket was thrown over him. Sam was facing him, eyes wide open—it was more of a whisper of a glimpse, yet he knew that later, whenever he thought about that night, there would always be the image of Sam lying on his side and gazing at him, hands pressed together and tucked under his ear.

_I can’t lose you. Sammy. I can’t lose you. I gotta let this go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week we've got just one update of the main story, but on Tuesday we posted another Special Feature. For those who missed it and would like to check it out: [If the Sun Refused to Shine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2800880). A flashback from Dean's POV set before our story. We hope you enjoy!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_One month later, first week of September, Madison, WI_

 

[Wednesday, around 7PM. Sam texts.]  
I’ve taken three showers since we got back and my hair still smells like smoke. 

[Dean]  
Maybe you should cut it. Just saying

Bet you didn't miss that

[Sam]  
Not so much, no. I kinda forgot about it, really. I remember that from the first time, too, after you got me at Stanford. There were so many things I'd forgotten about that took me by surprise.

Oh and hey, Dean? Maybe you should shut up. Just saying.

[Dean]  
I don't know if I could ever forget what it's like, can't really imagine it. Guess you and I are different that way too

At least you're not growing your hair. I guess I should be grateful for small mercies

[Sam]  
You've never really been out of the game long enough. What had it been, a few weeks?

And you know, you say things like that and all I can hear is 'I dare you, Sammy.'

[Dean]  
I'm zipping it now, for the love of god, Sammy

[Sam]  
Felt good, though. It was a good hunt, right?

I don't get why you hate my hair, why does it even matter to you? 

[Dean]  
Not talking about your hair anymore, dude, enough for one night

One of many. Another one bites the dust.

How's the shift tonight?

[Sam]  
Whatever, you obviously love talking about my hair, you bring it up all the time. 

Shift is slow. Working the outside bar and it's way too hot, no one wants to be out here. 

At least I didn't forget any of the important stuff. AND I got to come to your rescue. So yeah, it was a good one. 

Do you miss it? Hunting and being on the road all the time?

[Dean]  
I don't know, I kinda do. Surprised you thought it was good

I mean it was almost like you'd missed it

Not like missed it missed it for real. Not pushing you to go out there again

Only if you wanted to

Forget about it

And thanks. You know, for back there

[Sam]  
You're welcome. 

You know in the car, when you asked me what I was thinking about? The actual answer is these past few days, seeing Bobby and getting caught up in that job, I've been wondering what it could have been like if we'd gotten into hunting some other way. If the life hadn't always been about revenge.

I mean, I know what Bobby always says, that everyone gets in for a reason and usually it's a bloody one. So, it's stupid. But I was just thinking about that.

[Dean]  
Were you thinking about what could have been different? I don't know, man, it is what it is. Who knows maybe we got the better deal? I know, I can hear myself too, but who's to say

[Sam]  
Yeah, exactly, who's to say. That's why I wasn't gonna say anything, sorry. Stupid texting, two seconds away from you and I'm already back to not knowing when to shut up. Sorry, forget about it.

[Dean]  
I'm just saying, I had a whole other life and it wasn't so great after all. I guess thinking about shoulda, coulda, woulda makes it too close to djinn territory for me

[Sam]  
I don’t want to talk about the djinn, I hate even thinking about it.

Anyway, what are you up to? I heard there's an Indy marathon on TNT.

[Dean]  
Cool!

Wasted another son of a bitch, Indy’s on tonight, I got my beer, all I’m missing is my little brother and my life would be complete

[Sam]  
So you need me and beer and that's it, is that what you're saying? I don’t know, Dean, what about cheeseburgers? I'm pretty sure cheeseburgers would make your short list.

[Dean]  
Oh you know how to take good care of me, Sammy

[Sam]  
That's my job.

Which is, by the way, the best job ever.

[Dean, after a couple of minutes.]  
You sure know how to make a guy feel drunk before he even had his first beer

[Sam]  
Feels like you’re in another state. 

[Dean]  
Yeah.

[After another couple of minutes.]  
Jesus fuck Sam, it's like I haven’t seen you for a week

[Sam]  
Tell me about it.

 

[Sam, around 11PM.]  
Hey.

[Dean]  
Sammy I’m watching the last crusade! Indy just crawled out of that chasm, love that scene so freaking much, funny!

That dudes head just rolled down the steps

Man, I thought it was AWESOME when we watched it first and then when Indy kneels before God! You were white as sheet, so scared, you big baby 

[Sam]  
Shut up.

I wasn’t that scared.

[Dean]  
Yeah you were

[Sam]  
Was not.

[Dean]  
Kept a little too close to me that night just saying

[Sam]  
You only think it's awesome because you're permanently twelve years old. 

[Dean]  
Dude, you're embarrassing yourself, it is totally great! Now time to grow old super fast

COOL!

He chose…poorly.

I freaking love this movie

[Sam]  
No, really? I never knew.

Is Rashid home?

[Dean]  
Easy to be sassy now, big baby

Yeah, in his room

[Sam]  
You're acting out the fight scenes in the living room, aren't you?

Using your bathrobe tie for a whip, am I right?

[Dean]  
Shut up

The old knight is AWESOME, you made yourself a sword, remember?

[Sam]  
Yeah, I remember.

Having fun?

[Dean]  
Yes!!

Ta ta ra taa ta ta ram

[Sam]  
Hey, Dean, would you want to go out Friday night?

[Dean]  
This is the best movie ever, Sammy!

Yeah, where?

[Sam]  
Like maybe to a movie or something? I mean, I know nothing beats Indy, but I don't know, could be fun to see something new.

Yeah?

And we could check out that diner I told you about, with the homemade pies. 

[Dean]  
Sounds awesome, what do you wanna see?

[Sam]  
You know, whatever. Ironman or whatever you want to see.

[Dean]  
Dude, let's catch something cool, like an adventure movie or something

[Sam]  
What, not some sappy romcom, are you sure?

[Dean]  
No one deserves that, everyone who puts up with it is hoping to get laid, I swear

[Sam]  
Hang on a second Kate needs something. 

[Five minutes later.]  
Apparently they got tickets to the homecoming football game and want to know if we want in. I said probably. 

[Dean]  
Do you mean the game is this Friday?

[Sam, five minutes later.]  
And Ahmed told me he just saw "that chick flick that used to be that chick TV show" and it wasn't that bad. I think he means Sex and the City. 

[Dean]  
You lost me

Don’t tell me YOU wanna go see sex and the city

When is the game then?

[Sam, four minutes later.]  
What, no. The game is next month.

[Dean]  
Dude, if you're going to be talking to your housemates just say so and text me later

[Sam]  
Okay just give me a second.

[Fifteen minutes later.]  
Okay. So. Friday?

[Dean]  
Everything alright there?

[Sam]  
Yeah, sorry. Just my dumb housemates. You know how they get.

[Dean]  
Must have been something not so dumb, you kind of dropped off out of the blue

[Sam]  
No, it was nothing. Just, I've got to stop telling them anything. 

[Dean]  
What did you tell them?

[Sam]  
Ahmed tried to freaking invite himself along for Friday. 

I shouldn't even have mentioned that we were getting together. They don't get it.

[Dean]  
We've done things with them before

[Sam]  
I want to spend time with you without all of them hanging over my shoulder.

[Dean]  
We just spent a week in the car just us. That wasn’t enough me time for you?

[Sam]  
Maybe I like having you all to myself.

[Two minutes later]  
Problem?

[Dean, after a minute.]  
No

[Sam]  
Good.

So, Friday. Just you and me. And an action flick and pie. 

[Dean]  
Adventure

I’mma check out what’s on, find something good

[Sam]  
Okay. Nothing too stupid, please.

[Dean]  
Here we go

[Sam]  
Like, not one of those check-your-IQ-at-the-door deals, okay?

What?

[Dean]  
If you think I'm gonna pick something stupid why do you even want to hang out with me at the movies?

You know me dude, you know what I like

Which by the way is awesome movies, my taste is impeccable!

See, not so stupid, I know big words

[Sam]  
Maybe I like your face. 

[Dean]  
You won't be able to see my face, genius, it's dark in there so try again

[Sam]  
Maybe I like sitting next to you in the dark. 

Just want to be with you, Dean.

[Dean, a few minutes later.]  
Ok

[Sam]  
Yeah?

[Dean]  
Yeah

[Sam]  
Okay.

I'm guessing you'll want to drive. 

You figure out what you want to see and pick me up a little before. 

[Dean]  
You want me to pick you up?

[Sam]  
Yes.

[Dean]  
Ok

[Sam]  
And you better buy me some popcorn, too.

And soda.

[Dean]  
Ok

[Sam]  
And give me the Impala and a million bucks and swear that Hayden Christiansen is the only true Vader. 

Just checking to see if you remember how to say anything besides "ok"

[Dean]  
I don't have a million bucks

[Sam]  
That's okay, I don't really want it. 

[Five minutes later]  
You said it felt like it’s been a week. Feels like a million years to Friday.

[Ten minutes later]  
Night, Dean. 

[Dean]  
Night

\---

_Interlude_

 

_Dean_

In the two years between Stanford and Madison, the two of them hadn’t exactly had buckets of fun together. Too much on their plate, too many blows coming from all directions. Big losses. It was like they never seemed to catch a break. 

Dean did try to have some fun on his own, which mostly consisted of hustling cash out of strangers’ pockets, sticking his dick into a different type of stranger, and throwing shots down his throat. He had been floating a little high in the first months after his trip to Palo Alto. Sure, he was worried about Dad’s disappearance and anguished about Sammy’s pain at the loss of Jessica, but nothing seemed to quite kill his buzz: he and Sam were road tripping together, just the two of them. 

Dean hadn’t called it a road trip at the time but his heart had known it for what it was. His heart had thrummed a feel-good tune in his chest, against all odds in their situation, too. It made Dean feel invincible. A supernatural being himself—a demigod that didn’t even realize he was one. He had kept his foot on the gas and killed monsters as he went along, too busy feeling alive to stop and examine how his life had done a somersault overnight, shifting while up in the air and landing on its feet a different beast. Sam – _Sammy_ \- was back, right there with Dean at every turn.

It took a long time for Sam to restore his full color palette. He’d started out with black for mourning, violent purple for vengefulness, and dull gray for everything else. They’d spent years away from each other so for a while, Dean wasn’t sure how much of the difference he was noticing in his brother was irreversible change and how much was a temporary funk. Sam did seem different. A young man, a grown-up; not the frustrated, strong kid Dean remembered. Sam was put together with permanent glue now, most of his parts kind of fitting better together than they ever used to.

Yet Dean would also blink and his baby brother was back sitting across from him, insecure or challenging, hyper-sensitive or sassy. (The sass had always been strong with that one.) Day by day, month by month Sam was coming into full view, like a crosswords puzzle the two of them were doing together. 

Six months after their reunion they tentatively began doing fun things together once in a blue moon. They went to some bars that didn’t have a link to a case or to other hunters who would check them out from underneath world-weary eyebrows. It was different also how they were visiting a bar together for real, rather than Dean drinking alone or chatting up someone, with Sam buried in papers at a table nearby. Even after Sam’s visions had gotten stronger he still agreed to some of Dean’s suggestions. _“Hey Sammy, got us tickets for the hockey game this Saturday, how about it?”_

It wasn’t often; it wasn’t a thing. Except maybe it was, because each of these occasions had etched itself so deep into Dean’s memory that having done something twice somehow became _‘remember when we used to win darts competitions.’_

There was one specific type of fun, however, which Sam always refused to partake in. On his own, Sam ended up getting some action a few times, even if it was just a quick make-out session. Sam’s choices of women raised questions and eyebrows both, so maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t the sexy dog Dean was. (Sarah, Dean could understand. Classy chick, her own person, very beautiful—just right for Sam. Sarah was the exception. A priest’s daughter, channeling an angry hookman? A freaking werewolf? A demon?)

But when Dean suggested that they shared in that area, too, Sam bailed. They were driving together, killing things together, brushing their goddamn teeth side by side. They even got drunk together, but getting a chick together was where Sam drew the line. It didn’t matter whether the chicks Dean chose were the hot-girl-next-door type, the skinny model type, the geek girl, or the walking advertisement for Sluts-Are-Us. Sam wasn’t in. Sam, who was a healthy twenty-something guy. Sam, who was a six-foot-four demigod himself, hiding lean muscle and insanely smooth skin under baggy layers of clothing just like he hid his exotic eyes under a mess of floppy hair. A lot of girls didn’t get fooled by the camouflage. Some dudes didn’t, either. Dean watched carefully, tried offering samples from the whole spectrum to Sam, sometimes very subtly, sometimes more like a popping balloon in his face. But Sam was never in.

Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on why it mattered. He only knew the answer had something to do with how it mattered that Sam’s lower back curved to his ass just so, or that the whites of his eyes seemed beautiful and blinding on some days.

—

In all that time they’d gone to the movies once, about a month before Sam left for Madison. Dean had gone to see _Hell Hazers III_ the previous week. He’d hooked up with Tara Benchley on the set of _Hell Hazers II_ so he was never going to miss the chance to sit in the cinema, look at the screen, and be smug about the fact that he’d tapped that. The Campbells were on a hunt of their own, while Dean and Sam had gone to Arkansas to check out a poltergeist. Sam had been a bit subdued and Dean wondered whether it was because like him, he was thinking about how each hunt could be their last one together. So maybe Dean still had some residual groove left from the previous week or maybe it was in an attempt to distract them both, but on Friday night he suggested they go to the movies. 

Sam just lifted his gaze from his laptop, looked straight at Dean, then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

The cinema was a twenty-minute drive from their motel. As soon as they settled into their seats, the lights went out. Dean was relieved big time. From the moment Sam had said his low, “Yeah, okay,” something had shifted in Dean. It had taken over the room as well; the clouds of steam rolling out from the bathroom after Sam took a shower made the air even thicker, all objects losing the sharpness of their edges. 

Dean took a shower himself, after Sam. He stood under the stream a little numb, mind going in a loop between whether he had clean clothes and enough shaving cream left. When he finally came out of the bathroom Sam talked and acted casually, normal, but Dean knew his brother was off his game. If he didn’t know it at the motel, the bulb would have lit up on the way to the cinema with how the number of words Sammy had spoken had dropped exponentially as the distance to their destination shortened. The drive itself was more or less okay, thanks to the miracle of loudspeakers and sound wave transmission. Dean had blasted the radio for all it was worth, and Sam didn’t even cock a long-suffering eyebrow at him. Not that Dean had kept his gaze on his brother’s face for longer than a second to notice. Sam had been throwing him glances that felt like the blade Dean had run over his skin earlier with only water to help. Sam had used the last of his own shaving cream.

Walking into the cinema Dean’s pulse had sped up at the thought that once in their seats, he’d _have to_ look at Sam—he no longer had the excuse of driving, or walking, or buying popcorn and soda. Thankfully, the lights going down saved him, but then everything felt weird and wonderful all at once. It was ridiculous. They were just sitting there, next to each other. He didn’t get it, it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was. It was. It was Friday night, and he was wearing his best shirt, and he had taken Sam to the movies. Sammy, who smelled so fresh and looked so grown up, and Dean didn’t even know what the ever-loving fuck.

Embarrassing didn’t even begin to cover it. Thank god for the darkness.

Of course Dean couldn’t tell what was happening on the screen. They were running trailers and he tried focusing, retaining something in his brain for future reference as if someone was going to come asking. No use—his noodle was still suffering the effects of whatever dope it was marinated in. Dean suspected Sam had something to do with the ingredients. 

The movie started at last. 

It did, but someone must have substituted the opening with a special, private show just for Dean. Only he couldn’t follow that one, either. He only knew that it, too, was about Sam. It was about the two of them together, sitting in a cinema somewhere in this big great country of theirs. They could lose themselves in here, could hide from the world, make it look at them and see just two anonymous, dark shapes—not lighter than all other shapes, but not darker, either. Just two faceless cut-outs, shoulders brushing…

Then one of the figures lifted its arm as if stretching and put it along the back of the other figure’s seat.

Dean’s throat was dry, drier than it had any right to be after all the soda he’d had. He didn’t know what his arm was doing, he just knew he’d rather cut it off than stop it. Sam had tensed up as soon as Dean had made to move; for countless seconds his back remained rigid along the inside of Dean’s arm.

Then Sam relaxed, sagging a little in his seat. The pounding of Dean’s heart began to go down, something warm and comfortable mixing effortlessly with the blood in his veins. It turned molten and happy when Sam sagged a bit more, leaning in as if he was trying to tuck himself in. Without much thought Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s shoulder and brought him in. He knew how this went. His baby brother, the freak, was falling asleep. 

Sammy used to do that since he was little, no amount of blaring police sirens from the TV affecting him once his eyes started closing. When he was as young as three, he’d settle himself on the couch between their dad and Dean, head and shoulders dropping in Dean’s lap, his little feet tucking into the space between their father’s torso and his arm. Dad’s big fingers would wrap around Sammy’s curled up toes and the three of them would stay like that for a few hours, Dad and Dean watching a movie, Sammy sleeping—rare, motionless moments of security and normalcy. Sammy’s weight would grow heavier as soon as he drifted off, but Dean never rolled him away. Something went wrong with the TV once, a loud thudding noise emitting from it out of the blue that Dean was sure would wake up Bobby, and at eight Dean had been kind of intimidated by him. Dad had jumped and tried to make the awful loud noise stop; Dean had shifted, throwing panicked looks towards the stairs and urging his father to hurry up. His little brother didn’t even stir.

Back in the cinema, Sam slept through the entire movie. Dean was in heaven. _No Country for Old Men_ was awesome, a friggin’ great Western produced in the twenty-first century. Tommy Lee Jones was awesome. Their seats were awesome, Dean and Sam were the only people in the back. 

Having Sam’s weight against his body had felt like the muscle memory equivalent of opium.

The movie was coming to an end when Sam finally shifted, his breathing changing. Dean’s arm flew up on its own volition, giving Sam a way out, but Sam only repositioned himself with his back a little straighter, making Dean sit up properly to accommodate his overgrown little brother in his embrace. Sam lifted his face up to Dean, making Dean pull back a little to look at him. Their eyes met, Sam’s still thinly veiled with sleep, his eyelids looking heart-wrenchingly delicate under the brilliant white light streaming from the screen. Their eye contact held for ages, then Sam laid his head down again.

Dean’s epiphany arrived through the front door, kicking it in.

_I want to drag my hand up your shoulder, up your neck, reach your jaw and nudge it with my thumb, turn your face up to mine. I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you, Sam. Open you slow, lick your tongue, lick the sleep and salt and sugar from your hot, sweet mouth until you melt for me, into me._

As far as first times went, Dean was pretty sure nothing beat that one.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_‘Felt good, though. It was a good hunt, right, Dean?’_

_‘One of many. Another one bites the dust.’_

_‘Do you miss it? Hunting and being on the road all the time?’_

\---

_One week earlier. Last week of August, 2008.  
Madison WI_

_Sam_

_Let’s go see Bobby._

Sam sent the text and slid his phone into his pocket, then went back to pouring and mixing drinks for the customers braving the evening heat to sit at the Great Dane’s outdoor garden bar. It was beautiful out there, the bar and patio surrounded by a high brick wall covered in ivy and flowering vines, and the white lights strung through the trees made the place look like a freaking fairyland when the sun went down. Sam was used to it by now, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t affected by it and most nights he loved working the garden shifts no matter how hot it was. 

Tonight, though, he was restless. Itching to get out of the heat. Or maybe to get out into it. Run like something was on his heels, punch a bag like it might swing back. Hear the music in the mighty roar of the wind at seventy miles an hour.

Something small and sharp bounced off Sam’s cheek and he reeled around, fists coming up quick, to see Dean grinning, looking shamelessly pleased with himself as he dropped onto a bar stool. Pulling on a frown, Sam marched over to punch his brother hard on the shoulder.

"You friggin' jerk, what the hell is your problem?" Sam was grinning before he even finished talking, and caught himself just before he asked the question on the tip of his tongue. _What are you doing here?_

This was the first time Dean had come to the Dane on his own initiative since the night before their disastrous non-breakfast. It was the first time, actually, since Sam had cruelly accused Dean of stalking him, that Sam had seen his brother without making plans first. The sight of Dean when he hadn’t been expecting him had a hot flush creeping up Sam’s neck and goosebumps standing out on his arms as he poured a cold beer and waved away the bills Dean pulled from his wallet.

That night they spent at the park last month had cleared the air for them. Reset things, maybe, and for a few days Sam had coasted by on relief when their reconciliation seemed to be holding. But that only lasted until the fear and guilt that had been clouding his vision began to fade and he opened his eyes one morning to find the world around him clear, the want within him crystalized him into something sharp and purposeful, something he was done denying. What he felt for Dean was real, it wasn’t going away, and it was worth both fighting and waiting for.

But being patient was hard. Sam was good at it; he’d learned to be. But it was still hard, once he’d made up his mind that he wanted something, not to reach out and grab it. Especially when he was so used to grabbing at Dean, had been doing it all his life.

Sam realized he was staring only when Dean’s gaze skated away from his, down the length of the bar to take in the scant handful of sweat-slick customers brave or stupid enough to be out in this weather. Sam had halfway forgotten where they were. A smirk spread over Dean’s face as he watched a young couple flirting awkwardly a dozen feet away, the guy sweating through his brand-new button down and trying to play it cool, the girl fanning her face with her menu and obsessively checking her phone. 

Nodding at them Dean murmured, “Kinda looks like you in college, huh, Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Please. We knew how to handle the heat in California, I never looked that stupid.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and reached for his beer. “That a fact? Well I guess I can’t say for sure, I never saw you in college. But man, you were a goofy kid. Always complaining you were too hot or too cold and tugging on more shirts and then yanking them off. A real pain in the ass, that’s for sure.”

Sam shook his head, reaching for the beer he’d hidden under the counter and taking a long, cooling gulp. Wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist, he said, “Whatever, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean said, swiping impatiently at his own lips. “Don’t ‘whatever, Dean,’ me. I know this stuff, all right? I was there for all of it.”

Sam grinned. “Complaining all the way. I know.”

Dean rapped two knuckles again Sam’s chest. “I’m the one’s been putting up with you your whole life. Don’t you forget it.”

Sam didn’t pull away. He cocked his head, leaning into the single, bright point of contact between them. “Wouldn’t forget it if I could,” he said, his voice coming out softer than he meant it to.

In some ways, Dean had been unusually forthcoming since their midnight confessional. He’d started reminiscing more, for one thing. Telling stories, different ones than the well-worn narratives of their childhood that Sam had been sick of hearing before he was even out of high school. Two weeks ago they’d gone to the mall because Dean had ruined his favorite boots on his last hunt and Sam needed some new t-shirts. On their way back out to the parking lot they cut through a department store and Dean had stopped on a surprised inhale, turning to look at the gaggle of women clustered around a cosmetics stand before shrugging and continuing on. To Sam’s surprise Dean didn’t brush him off when he asked, “What was that?” but answered instead, in a quiet but steady voice, “I think Mom wore that perfume.”

“Are you all right?” Sam had asked later as Dean, still quiet and pensive, cut the engine in front of Sam’s house. His brother had shaken himself and turned to Sam with an odd half-smile, scanning his face before he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just. Mom, dude. She would have been so proud of you, Sammy.”

And that was it. It was back, Dean’s fond, proud, Big Brother routine. Like they were fourteen and eighteen all over again. It meant more to Sam than he’d ever be able to say, but it also felt like a curtain between them, like a scrim, something sheer but heavy that Sam could see through, but not quite push aside. 

_I’ve been there for your whole life, don’t forget it._

_Wouldn’t if I could._

It was true and it wasn’t. Sam couldn’t bear the thought of letting go of any of the moments and memories that made up his life with his brother. Every high and low and every thing about Dean, that was what made him who he was, himself, and he couldn’t imagine not having that. But the other truth was that no matter what he told Dean, there were times he wanted to forget it so bad he shook with it. And then there were times he wanted to talk about it so bad he ached with it. He didn’t even know what all it encompassed but it started and ended with Dean, the way most things in his life did. 

The fact that he was twenty-five and still struggling on a daily basis to figure out what was all right to do and say and what needed to stay locked up inside was pathetic. He kept sabotaging himself, just like he had when he was a teenager. What was his excuse now, that he was afraid? He’d been trying to show Dean, ever since that moment of clarity last month, that he wasn’t afraid. That Dean shouldn’t be afraid to trust him. That what happened with Ari wouldn’t happen again. That Sam was Dean’s for the taking. 

The only thing he was afraid of anymore was that he was being super obvious and clumsy about the whole thing. Asking Dean to meet him at the bar so he’d know Sam wanted him there. Hanging out at Sam’s house, but doing other stuff, too. Sam had started looking around for more things for them to do, sometimes with other people, though they had a way of always ending up alone anyway. They got drunk at a baseball game and climbed way up high to sit in the empty bleachers where Dean provided a running commentary in a really terrible New Jersey accent while Sam giggled and punched his shoulder. They didn’t notice the game ending and got left behind when Sam’s friends went home. 

Then the heat wave hit. Sam only had one more week of freedom before classes started up again and his body ached all over. So, “Let’s go see Bobby,” he said, and fifteen minutes later Dean showed up at the Dane to ask why.

Sam was restless; that’s what he told Dean. It had been way too long since he’d watched the world stretch out in front of him, both infinite and neatly framed in the Impala’s windows, comforting and vast. He suspected that sliding into the passenger seat for a long drive would feel like going back in time; that’s what he didn’t tell Dean. Because Sam knew he needed to figure it out first for himself. Figure out if that was what he wanted – to sit beside his brother; to go back in time. Kind of hard to avoid obsessing about the past, what with Dean’s apparent campaign to keep things on the level, restore things to their age-old order of big brother and little brother, and Sam was remembering the first summer after Dad gave the Impala to Dean, when suddenly it was just the two of them and the road, and instead of feeling claustrophobic it was the sweetest kind of freedom Sam had tasted since he turned twelve and found himself at war with the world. With Dad.

Hours, miles, years had flown by, and here Dean was again. Now, like then, he had become the only person Sam wanted to talk to. Now, unlike then, they were separated not by an empty stretch of seat but by the width of the bar. Dean was leaning in, tilting his almost-empty beer glass to make his point, Sam mirroring him with his forearms planted on the bar, his skin sticking to the gummy wood as much as his eyes and face and soul seemed to stick to Dean’s when they got this way — laughing almost into each others’ mouths, finishing and speaking over each others’ sentences.

“You are so full of shit,” Sam crowed, high and bright and daring Dean, willing him to contradict him. “You and Dad had no _idea_ that other demon was there, you were dead friggin’ meat if I wasn’t watching your back!”

“Big words, baby boy.” Dean’s grin could light the moon at least, his now-empty glass tracing a streak of incontrovertible logic that sliced through the night air and the noise of crickets beyond the garden wall. “Big words.”

Sam reached out and snatched at the glass. His fingers closed over Dean’s and Dean didn’t let go. “Yeah?” Sam asked, the last two fingers on his hand pressed up against Dean’s wrist, his brother’s pulse racing his own at a million beats per minute. “You wanna slug it out right now, De? I’ll show you I can handle myself.”

Dean’s eyes were narrow, coal-bright things when he let go of Sam and reached for his glass of water instead. “Nah,” he said. “Been fighting with you my whole life, why would I wanna do it on my night off?”

Sam took Dean’s glass, turned it carefully in his hands before setting it in the dirty tray. “Force of habit?” he suggested, keeping his voice light, flicking his eyes to Dean’s and then away. He braced his palms against the bar and stretched out his back. “Hey, maybe when we get to Bobby’s, we could spar in his yard. Still haven’t done that since you got here.”

Dean lifted his eyebrows, leaning back on his stool to look up at Sam. “So we’re really driving out there, huh?”

Yeah. They really were.

\---

Maybe Sam had been hoping for a hunt, when he asked Dean if they could go to Bobby’s. The odds of them meeting up with the old man and not hearing about something nasty that needed killing weren’t really worth mentioning. Maybe he’d been looking for a way to feel at home in his skin again. After a month of second-guessing everything he did and said, it felt amazing to fall back on instinct and let muscle memory take over. At home with himself, at home in the Impala with Dean. A fast hunt, quick but brutal, bookended by a long drive, and Sam was awake for every second of it. Felt vital in the way he could feel his own pulse right down to his toes, the ebb and flow of oxygen in his veins with each breath. Inspiration, saturation; they got a motel on the outskirts of Yellowstone and Sam lay awake listening to Dean breathe easy, enjoying the heavy weight of his own hand on his chest and the sound of Dean’s unconscious exhalations three feet away, timing their breaths to match. Ebb and flow, he’d thought. Push and pull. Opposites and equals; complementary. It was startling how simplistic it all was, when he stopped trying to put words to it, when he let himself just feel the truth of it for all it was worth.

Since Dean joined him in Madison, the perils they’d faced had been…Well. Normal. Sam had a vivid sense memory of Dean’s hands all over his body barely six months back when a poltergeist thought it would be funny to use Sam as a boomerang and funnier still when he didn’t bounce back. Six weeks ago, busy explaining something no doubt, Sam hadn’t looked to his left before stepping off the curb to cross the street and Dean pulled him back sharply with a hand around his elbow. Sam had shrugged him off, annoyed, and regretted it the next minute when he saw the way the line of Dean’s jaw went taut and he shoved his hands back into his pockets. 

This job they worked for Bobby was nothing extraordinary, really. Research, a few false starts and a few dead ends before a couple of hectic hours on the chase and then the wind-down beside the smoldering grave. Dean lit the match and Sam leaned on the shovel and they stood there together until the flames died down before walking slowly back to the car. Sam stowed their gear and closed the trunk and there was Dean, hands resting easy at his sides and his chin tipped up, and Sam didn’t think twice about going to join him, leaning against the Impala in his place at Dean’s side.

_‘Maybe we need danger to make us fit together the way we’re supposed to.’_

That was just about the last thing he’d said to Dean before things went so far out to sea that Sam was shocked they’d been so successful at pretending everything was cool, everything was normal. But out there in Nowhere, Wyoming, Sam set his shoulder against Dean’s and his brother didn’t move away. And in the space of a single, spare moment, Sam thought, _It’s going to be okay._ He thought, _He’s in this for keeps, too._

They got back to Madison as the sun was rising Wednesday morning. Dean dropped Sam off at his house to wash and rest up before his shift that night. Sam spent the day sitting in his room, feeling like the world had shifted around him once again since he was last there. That week on the road with Dean, it had felt so familiar, but more than that it had been easy. Up until they were on the road home and then the part of his brain he usually relied on to keep it together for him had become otherwise occupied.

He was remembering being a little kid, before he could read much on his own, how he’d get bored with his toys and picture books and looking out the window. How he’d turn to look at Dean in the seat next to him. Watch him doodling over his homework or reading his comic books until Dean looked up and caught him, saw him smiling, and then Dean would smile back or, a few years later, tell him, “Quit it!” with a grin that said the opposite. “Blink or something,” he’d say, with a gentle cuff to Sam’s shoulder or the back of his head and then it was a staring contest until they were both laughing and squashed together on the seat. 

And Sam was remembering that one summer in particular, the one that started with their stay in that old musty cabin after the hunt when Dean got more chewed up by the mosquitos than the chupacabra they were hunting, just before Dad gave them the car. He was remembering how obsessed he and Dean had been. How obsessed with each other, with the feeling that was still okay, until it wasn’t, to call by its real name. It had stretched thick like molasses between them, so easy to see and feel and pull at. Obsessed with the overly-physical rivalry constantly jangling between them, right hooks like code words for what was going on in Sam’s pathetic, aching chest. He’d been so happy he felt angry all the time. Too helpless to deal with it any other way and it hurt like hell but it hadn’t felt wrong. 

Ten years later and poised on the knife-edge of what he thought he wanted, Sam felt that ache just as acutely as he had then. He pressed the heel of his hand into his sternum, breathing easier under the self-induced pressure, hating himself a little bit but forgiving himself a whole lot more. Being with Dean was all he wanted and sometimes it was so easy. Being with him in the Impala, on the hunt, that had been easy. After a long summer of false starts and dead ends, Sam allowed himself to think that maybe this whole thing might actually be a whole lot easier than they were making it, and pulled out his phone to see if maybe Dean was feeling it, too.

_‘Wasted another son of a bitch, Indy’s on tonight, I got my beer, all I’m missing is my little brother and my life would be complete’_

_‘So you need me and beer and that's it, is that what you're saying? I don’t know, Dean, what about cheeseburgers? I'm pretty sure cheeseburgers would make your short list.’_

_‘Oh you know how to take good care of me, Sammy’_

_‘That's my job.  
Which is, by the way, the best job ever.’_

_‘You sure know how to make a guy feel drunk before he even had his first beer’_

Sam thought he knew exactly what Dean meant. Stone-cold sober and fundamentally intoxicated. So Sam decided, finally. _I’m just going to ask._

\---

_Two days later. Friday night.  
Madison, WI_

The oppressive heat draped over the city reached a fever pitch on Friday afternoon but with the approach of evening storm clouds began to loom on the horizon, dense and promising to break at any moment. Sam grinned and didn’t even care. Standing on his front porch, waiting for Dean to pick him up, he found himself laughing as he looked up at the sky. _Of course_ a storm was brewing on the night he thought he might end up kissing his brother. They were the goddamn Winchesters, and nothing less would have been good enough for them.

He’d spent the day with anticipation jumping like a live wire in his stomach, completely unable to settle to anything until he realized what he was doing and made himself sit still for three hours and scan through the first two books on the syllabus for his Cognition and Culture class, not moving until he heard Jasmine and Kate coming up the stairs and then he was startled out of his chair by a glance at his watch. Dean was picking him up in half an hour and he hadn’t showered yet.

He felt staticky, mind a blur and skin buzzing beneath the uneven spray of the lukewarm shower, erratic bursts of cold water pounding for a second and then easing up to be ignored the way he’d been ignoring the lightning strikes of clarity slicing through his self-induced fog all day. _Dean’s coming for me._ He scrubbed his hair, cleaned beneath his fingernails. The question of what to wear seemed suddenly of baffling import. _We’re going out tonight._ He turned the shower off almost before he finished rinsing because the water had at last made up its mind and turned warm, running like a soft caress over his shoulders and down his chest and stomach, soothing and pleasant and safe. He snatched the thought out of the air and forced it down before it could make its escape. _I could just stay right here, be safe, be warm. Nothing has to change._

 _Dean’s coming for me._

They were half a mile from the movie theatre before it hit Sam that there Dean actually was. Dean, his hands on the wheel in a steady ten and two, and Sam frowned to himself – that was way too precise to be casual. Neither of them had been talking much, either, if at all. So, at the next red light he looked over at his brother and tried to find something to say. 

It was cloudy and drizzling and a quick flash of lightning drew their attention, both of them leaning forward in their seats to peer up at the sky before Sam turned back to Dean. He’d been too wrapped up in his non-specific jumble of thoughts to realize that Dean hadn’t quite been himself. Sam had been smiling at Dean without thinking and hadn’t been told to cut it out, hadn’t once caught the patent quirk of a suspicious eyebrow. Sam blinked and momentarily shook off his happy haze, felt it replaced by a low-hanging cloud of…something. He watched Dean run a hand over his mouth and then echo the gesture with his tongue before his eyes flicked to the mirror and then to Sam, lingering before returning to watch the light. And like the second crest of a wave, the full meaning of Dean being here, really here, broke over Sam as he realized that he had no idea what was going on in Dean’s head. Sam knew what he was here for, was intimately familiar with the roads he’d taken – detours and wrong turns and all – to get to where he was now. But Dean’s route was a mystery to him.

Sam forgot about finding something meaningful to say and just opened his mouth to let words fall out. “I keep hearing this movie’s really good.” Dean pressed his lips together, made a soft humming sound of acknowledgment. Sam turned a bit more in his seat. His hands were getting damp. “I’m glad we’re going to see it. Together, I mean. I promise not to fall asleep on you, this time.”

Dean’s eyes had been sliding inevitably towards his but they snapped back to the road when the light turned and his foot was heavy on the pedal, speeding them away from the intersection. Dean’s hand had been warm and heavy on his shoulder, that last time, when Sam woke up to find that the movie was over and he’d slept through it, his head on Dean’s shoulder like he was a little kid again. His neck had hurt like a bitch and he’d drooled a little on Dean’s shirt — the nice, new one he’d only worn a couple times and hadn’t gotten any monster gunk on yet — but Dean hadn’t said anything; judging by the way he’d blinked a couple times at Sam before dragging his arm back into his own space, he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he had noticed. 

Sam tugged at his own t-shirt now, feeling suddenly self-conscious, like it was too tight, like it was some kind of disguise he’d donned for the night, like this was a job he was doing. _Impress the key witness: make him notice me, open up to me, make him like me._ The shirt wasn’t really his style, fitted and with some indistinct logo across the chest, but he’d liked the color and when he tried it on Dean had hidden a double-take and a lift of his eyebrows in a string of teasing insults. Sam had bought it without checking the price.

The theater parking lot was swarming. While Dean wound his way through the rows Sam looked out the window to watch the hoards of their fellow moviegoers ducking through the drizzle, laughing, smiling, holding hands. _Makes sense,_ Sam thought, as Dean finally found a space in the overflow lot, clear across the road from the theatre. _Friday night. Date night._

\---

_Dean_

 

In the half hour they’d spent in the theater the rain had turned steady and strong outside and Dean flew out into it, seeking its cool, shivering contrast. He was fraying around the edges, mind sizzling with an overload so bad it had physically propelled him out of his seat.

Away from Sam. Sam, who was the center of the universe, the root of all that was both bright and unbearably tight in Dean’s chest. Sam, who had been crossing line after line for three days, like he’d found out he only had three days left to live. 

Sam, who was following him out in the rain, his face confused and freaked out. Dean appreciated that at least his brain allowed him to recognize in others what he was experiencing big time himself.

“Dean, what…?”

Dean started walking in the general direction of the parking lot in big strides, hands bunched up in fists in his jacket pockets. He didn’t choose to ignore Sam. It was fight or flight and after having stayed for a million fights he had the fucking right to bolt for once in his goddamn miserable life.

Trying to do it by actually walking away from someone who had legs as long as a pair of magic beanstalks was not the smartest plan. Thing was, Dean hadn’t planned it. He hadn’t planned any of it. One moment he had somehow accepted the new order in his life; the next he was out there in Wyoming hunting with Sam the way they’d done it a thousand times before. Then they got back to this world, here, in Madison. It was as if someone had shifted the furniture in Dean’s life, then shoved him back inside. He recognized the pieces one by one, but he was disoriented all over again. 

The same thing happened straight after their return, this time on a smaller scale. One moment Dean was in his living room, enjoying a moment of normalcy by swishing his imaginary sword this way and that and pretending he was Indiana Jones fighting some evil sons of bitches. The next, Sam was asking him out on a date. At first, Dean didn't even realize that was what that was. He was still wrapping his freaking mind around it, when his little brother was already handing out metaphorical printouts with instructions about the date, and what do you know? Dean was supposed to take charge! Sam had asked him out without asking him first if Dean was okay to be asked out, which Dean would have said yes to, probably, after some freaking out first because he had managed to put a lid on it or so he thought. Only he couldn’t tell now, could he? He couldn’t tell if he’d put a lid on it and he couldn’t tell if he would have said yes just like that. 

What did it matter? Sam was spinning the table like some skilled magician and Dean had just gone with it, numb and acting on his default setting—responding to his little brother’s needs. Saying yes. Sam wanted to go to the movies? Sure thing. Sam wanted Dean to choose the movie? ‘Okay,’ Dean had texted. Sam wanted Dean to pick him up in the Impala? ‘Okay.’ Sam wanted Dean to buy him popcorn and soda? ‘Okay.’

It wasn’t okay. It was so far from okay that Dean had fought to keep still for three days until Sam’s hand on his thigh two minutes ago made him run out lest he explode. 

_Why is it that every milestone about me and my brother, and that thing no one ever puts in a sentence when they think ‘me and my brother’…_ Dean shook his head in impotent exasperation, still marching on, drops of rain flying everywhere. _Why did these things always have to happen at the goddamn movies?_ Popcorn and soda and fucking revelations that Dean didn’t know how to handle, like the first time in that movie theater in Pine Bluff. Who the fuck wanted to kiss their brother? Wasn’t Dean messed up enough as it was? 

Hadn’t Dean stalked Sam’s life enough? A fucking leech, permanently attached to the sunshine boy because Sam was meaning, identity, warmth and light. Sucking the life out of Sammy ever so imperceptibly, conning Sam into thinking that it was okay, that it was right; screwing with his head so bad that Sam could no longer tell what he wanted and now he believed he wanted this, that he wanted Dean.

Dean hadn’t really sat down and thought about whether one day it could be real, this alter-ego of their relationship that existed in hundreds of text messages and thousands of little nonverbal clues. He’d avoided thinking about it in hows and whens and wheres, but now he knew, he knew it wasn’t supposed to be real. It was supposed to have stayed in its alternate universe. It should have remained just a fantasy, role-played by Sam and Dean playing Sam and Dean. They’d managed to build a new life here, Sammy had—but Dean too. It was good, it should have been enough. Nothing should have bled into it from that other universe. Not the hot, scented shower Dean had taken before their date, scrubbing his skin so thoroughly as if he wanted to present Sam with a new version of himself. Not the fitted t-shirt on Sam that made him look like a mouthwatering 3D model of hotness, the new t-shirt Sammy bought two weeks earlier, paying more for it than all three of Dean’s combined. From the moment they’d exchanged their last messages on Wednesday night, nothing real was supposed to come out of this.

“Dean. Dean! Wait. Dean.”

On their own volition Dean’s feet stopped and turned him to face the beacon to whose call he would forever be attuned to respond. 

Sam was already soaking wet, his hair plastered on his forehead a bit to the right. He’d probably pushed it away without thinking, Dean noted dazedly, unable to do much else than take in his brother's appearance.

Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What…Talk to me. Please.”

Dean wasn’t sure how long it took him to shake his head. “This—Just—” He shook his head again. “No, Sam.”

Sam took a step towards him that Dean reverse-mirrored on instinct. The look in Sam’s eyes told Dean he’d just managed to open one of those chilling chasms between them. 

_Don’t you see it, too, Sam? We’d be two broken bodies at the very bottom. It’s quite a drop, I’m telling you._

“Why?” Sam asked, pleading. “You came tonight, I thought—”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Sam made a weird motion with his head, like a bird hearing a sharp sound to the right. “Why did you?”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but for a moment couldn’t find any words to push out of it. Water made its way in. It was pelting down now. Sam watched him, squinting and not budging one bit.

“Because I wasn’t thinking.” It was hard not to shout and Dean wasn't sure he was managing. “You dropped this on me, what was I supposed to do?”

He was already wishing his words were rain so he could swallow them back in, but Sam didn’t look mad. No, Sam just flinched, eyes turning guilty and kind of scared, and this was exactly what Dean had always feared would happen. This fucking enormous pit of feelings and… _feelings,_ and no thanks, he was _done._

He all but leapt as he took off again. He just needed to get to his car. Swift fantasies of a squelching mess fleeted through his head as he kept walking, the wide, completely empty pavement stretching ahead of him into what seemed like cursed infinity. Cold, unpleasant shivers ran up and down his body and he swiveled sharply to his right, crossing the street long before he’d reached the traffic lights. One single car was coming from his left, its headlights two weak dots in the distance. It appeared to him like a prop, like something clumsily drawn on cardboard background. He still sped up until he got to the other side of the street and went on marching forward.

“Dean, come on.” Sam had followed him all along, one step behind, but spoke only now. Dean couldn’t decipher the tone of his voice. The noise in his ears and that of the rain made only the words possible to distinguish. 

Then Sam’s hand closed around his upper arm and held, Sam matching his speed to Dean’s and preventing the gesture to become a harsh pull. “Dean.”

Dean stopped again but Sam didn’t let go of him until Dean looked at where Sam was holding him. He didn’t intend for his gaze to be so pointed. He just _couldn’t,_ couldn’t stand being even more roped in by this boy in front of him. This young man, more familiar than anything in the entire world and still completely confounding, entirely separate from Dean; new. What more did he want? He had so much of Dean already and he had to know that he could have everything. What was this? He wanted to prove it to himself? Why couldn’t _he_ , for once, let Dean be?

Sam had lowered his face to Dean’s, probably trying to see him better. They’d stopped in front of a closed gas station that had only one security light on in front.

“Can we just talk about this?” Sam's face was coaxing and tense.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Dean’s voice rose like a thunder. “Nothing to talk about!”

“Yes, there is!” Sam’s expression had switched to challenging and now to begging in a blink of an eye. “Dean, please…”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.” He was ready to growl the same thing in warning for the third time. “This should never have happened. Tonight, this…date.” The word came out as if he’d spat out an insect.

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “But it did,” he said, voice dropping and fighting to stay imploring. “I want this, you want it too. I know you do. Tell me you don’t want this…” 

Dean roamed Sam’s face: open, frightened, still hopeful. Eyes zeroed in on Dean like Sammy used to do when he was little. No matter how much sass he dished out even at the age of eight, his eyes always betrayed him—Dean would know. Complete trust. _My big brother would know._

“I don't want any of it," Dean said. "This is crazy, you hear me?” His voice broke. He took a breath and held it before speaking clearly over the sound of the rain. “It's not going to happen. And if you’re smart, you’ll forget about it too.”

Sam just stared at him, silent; then, to Dean’s horror, his eyes began slowly filling with tears. Second feature presentation for the night, this one in real time, but Dean was unable to look away or run away. Sam’s eyes were brimming now, any second about to spill down his cheeks and Dean knew he’d be able to tell the tears apart from the raindrops. 

Sam swallowed and nodded briskly. He looked away, bottom jaw pushing forward and nodded again. His eyes returned to Dean’s, not a single shred of accusation in them. Crushed. Nothing but hurt. 

Then he turned around and walked away.

Dean stood under the weeping skies, watching Sam’s wide, retreating back, the instant feeling of relief at being able to breathe again quickly beginning to ebb. His mind finally stopped seizing, allowing him to catch up fully on his surroundings. He was close to the parking lot, most of it visible from his vantage point. Baby was barely distinguishable, but she was there. Sam was still walking away in the opposite direction. It felt like ages ago, their driving here together—in the car, Dean’s mind had suddenly seemed to switch to sign language or something, and he’d been trying to translate its vehement messages, but to no avail. He’d been mostly aware of one thing only. Sam. Gorgeous beyond belief, like liquid apple pie in Dean’s veins. A little nervous but beaming at Dean, all for him, all for Dean.

Now Dean wasn’t driving him back home. He wasn’t taking Sam home with him, either. 

He was going home alone to drink a bottle of cheap whiskey and pass out in his wet clothes, chest feeling torn up like a werewolf had gotten its claws in it. But not before getting its claws in Sammy first, thanks to Dean. They were both fucking unhappy, everything was a fucked up mess, and Dean hadn’t even gotten to touch Sam’s hand.

Sam disappeared around the corner and Dean still stood rooted in his spot, shuffling from foot to foot but not moving. Looked like he was good at this: shuffling but not moving. 

Moving. What a life that would be.

He didn’t exactly run after Sam, but it was a close thing. He could hear his breath in his ears and the rain, flying down through the air and hitting different surfaces. Sound and motion turned rhythmic, lulling Dean’s mind at last and switching it off. Lightness took him over as he rounded the corner and saw Sam’s beige jacket not half a block away.

As soon as he reached him Dean grabbed hold of him, feeling the jolt of Sam’s start. Dean pulled him under the shelter of a dry cleaners awning that seemed stuck halfway down. Sam’s reddened eyes were on him, guarded and asking, but his face was already smoothing out as it should—no one as young and beautiful as Sammy should have those lines on his face. Damn the world, damn them both, but Dean wasn’t going to be the one to put them there. 

He wanted to tell Sam something, for once to articulate. He was still holding him by the elbow. Sam’s gaze was flicking all over Dean’s features and subtly turning luminous again, never mind that his eyes seemed almost black as they glistened with the interplay of street light. The dry cleaners didn’t have any working safety lights. One man’s danger meant another man’s protection. 

Sam took a step towards him at the same time as Dean did and Dean knew this was it. The end of the line. 

He couldn’t look away from Sam’s mouth. It opened a fraction, just as stunned and aware of the moment as Dean was. Dean gulped suddenly while taking a breath, the sound physical and desperate, and Sam’s lips parted further by half an inch but to Dean, it was the opening of another chasm, this one at long last sweet. 

His gaze dropped to Sam’s bottom lip and his vision literally swam. He’d looked at Sam’s bottom lip a million times. He loved it. He knew by heart its wide, unapologetic stretch, a perfect counterpoint to Sam’s timid, upturned, shorter upper lip. Dean knew all the shades of pink of Sam’s mouth. He’d seen it purse in bitchy consternation, he'd seen it in its patent smartass curl, and he’d seen it look just plain smart, those big words coming out of it, so bright and intelligent. He could swear he'd seen it dance sinuously. Dean had seen it tender and loosened up—the most fitting companion to the gaze that went with it, innocent and trusting. 

Sam’s lips were sensual without looking soft: two slates on which Dean could lose his mind before even falling between them. 

His fingers reached out, trembling barely perceptibly. He rested the pads of his middle and ring fingers on Sam’s bottom lip, feeling it give way the tiniest bit as Sam’s breath hitched and stopped.

Dean lifted his fingers and slid his hand around Sam’s neck, cupping the back of it, then moved upward, his mouth opening. After fantasizing about this to the point of distraction, now there was no thought in him about how their kiss should go, what should happen. Sam’s lips parted to meet his and then Dean was brushing their mouths together, his tongue already slipping out to lick at everything it met on its way.

Dean had kissed so many people in his life already that he’d lost count, and he'd kissed Sam in his head twice as many times. Yet nothing had prepared him for how unbelievably good the real thing felt. Sam was opening for him like a wet, slick cave of oblivion, his tongue peaking out immediately to lick along Dean’s, rough and arousing against the top side, then smooth and gentle as its underside slid against Dean’s. Sam was the best thing ever, crazy delicious, tasting like the template of the hottest wet dream he’d ever imagined. But like closeness and Sammy and love, too; love that made Dean feel like one of these days his ribcage would crack in two like a walnut.

Sam shuffled closer, pressing against him a little, opening his mouth more. His tongue ran over Dean’s lips, then over the tender skin on their inside. Dean tightened his hold on Sam’s neck when Sam shifted closer still, a cross between a whimper and a gasp leaving him. Their kiss grew deeper, Dean’s arms weaving around Sam’s body and trying to pull him into a full embrace just as Sam took Dean’s face between his hands. He tilted Dean’s head and kept kissing him, scooping heat from his mouth and spreading it back out again and again.

They kissed for a long time and when they stopped, the rain was still falling.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Friday night after the movie,_  
 _Madison, WI_

 

[Dean, around 1AM.]  
Hey, you ok? You haven’t caught a cold or anything?

[Sam]  
I'm okay. What about you?

[Dean]  
I’m alright

Hey Sam, I’m sorry.

[Sam]  
For what

Please don’t be sorry.

[Dean]  
For freaking out. And for what I said

I’m sorry, ok?

[Sam]  
Oh. Hey, it’s okay.

Did you mean any of it?

[Dean]  
No, I was a dick to you

[Sam]  
It’s okay, Dean.

We’re good.

Right?

[Dean]  
Yes, we are

I don't remember what I said. But I know it was wrong

[Sam]  
You just said no, you didn't want it and it wasn't going to happen. That it was crazy and I should forget it. 

[Dean]  
I was freaking out, ok?

[Sam]  
I know. I’m sorry.

I thought, when you said okay to tonight, I guess I thought we were on the same page. I'm sorry Dean. 

[Dean]  
Sammy, are we gonna be ok? Can we get past this?

[Sam, five minutes later]  
I don't know if I can forget it but if you say I have to, I'll try. 

I'm sorry. I thought you wanted it. I'm such an idiot. 

[Dean]  
No, I mean what I said

Not what happened after

Don't know, it’s crazy, that much I know

But I don't wanna pretend like it didn't happen

I’m kinda surprised with myself

[After five minutes.]  
Sam?

[Sam]  
Dean I can't just be okay to chat right now. You're giving me whiplash, I don't know what you want or how I'm supposed to be feeling.

[Dean]  
You're not supposed to be feeling anything!

[Sam]  
Yeah, I'm getting that!

[Dean]  
That came out wrong, I meant there's no such thing, you feel what you feel, that's it

I'm sorry, I'm gonna leave you alone

[Sam]  
Why did you chase me down if you were just gonna shoot me down again? You should have just let me go.

I don't want you to leave me alone I want you to learn to say no to me instead of leading me on like a god damn dog on a leash. 

Jesus, Dean.

[Dean]  
I'm not fucking shooting you down! How am I shooting you down? Jesus, I'm sorry that some of us are not freaking zen masters!

I'm not leading you on, I'm trying to do this your way, talking or whatever! But what, I gotta say only what you wanna hear, is that it? I can't be messed up about it? Fuck that, Sam, it's a big deal, alright, and I'm trying 

Just I don't know, it's fucking hard for me

[Sam]  
You’re not? 

Shooting me down?

[Dean]  
No I’m not. Dumbass

[Sam]  
Kinda sounded like you were.

[Dean]  
Well I wasn't, I swear

I told you I didn't want to pretend it didn't happen, didn't I? You know me, Sam, you know how I deal

[Sam]  
Yeah, that in conjunction with asking if we're gonna be able to "get past it," do you hear how ambiguous you sound?

[Dean]  
How about you get off my back, you read it that way too, it wasn’t just what I said!

[Sam]  
Since you dropped me off I haven't done anything except sit here grinning like an idiot and feeling so happy and now you start texting me sounding like you think it's all a mistake and now I just feel like an idiot, okay?

[Dean]  
It wasn’t a mistake

[Sam]  
No it wasn’t.

[Dean]  
So basically you're saying you're an idiot either way

Sorry Sammy. Too soon?

[Sam]  
Shut up.

Who's the more foolish, the idiot or the idiot who kisses him?

[Dean]  
Hey, I remember your tongue was in my mouth too

[Sam]  
It was, wasn't it?

[Dean]  
Hell yeah, it was

[Sam]  
It felt good, right?

I want to do it again. Will you let me?

[Dean]  
I wanna see you again 

Like that, like tonight

[Sam]  
I’d like that.

[Dean]  
Alright, how about this? We take it easy, hang out, then we try this again

[Sam]  
Yeah, okay.

[Dean]  
Ok. And yeah, I'll let you. I wanna do it again too

[Sam]  
When do you wanna meet up?

[Dean]  
Just, we gotta take it slow, ok?

[Sam]  
Does that mean you want time to change your mind?

I know you, Dean, and I thought you wanted this as much as I do. So it scares me how hard you're fighting it. 

[Dean]  
Trust me, that's nowhere near fighting it hard

Not asking for time to change my mind. Just wanna be careful, alright?

[Sam]  
You ran away from me in the rain. As far as statements go that one was pretty dramatic.

[Dean]  
But then I kissed you. Forget about that already?

Gotta try to do better next time, make it more memorable

[Sam]  
I didn’t forget.

[Dean]  
Just teasing you

Sammy, Sammy. Fuck, Sammy

[Sam]  
Yeah, Dean.

I’m here D.

[After five minutes.]  
Maybe I could see you tomorrow? Just for a little while? I'll be at the bar all night but I could buy you a beer when you get off work?

[Dean]  
Yeah ok, baby boy. I can stop by on my way home for a beer

[Sam]  
Okay.

It’s a date.

[Dean]  
Dude, seriously?

[Sam]  
If you want it to be I mean.

It doesn’t have to be

That was supposed to be a joke.

Sorry

You fried my brain earlier. Not my fault.

[Dean]  
It's having a beer. And maybe making out at the back during your break

[Sam]  
I can work with that.

[Dean]  
I’ll call you tomorrow. And just sleep, ok? No more thinking

[Sam]  
I can never stop thinking about you. But yeah, okay, I’ll try.

[Dean, after fifteen minutes.]  
Night Sammy

[Sam]  
Good night.

\---

_Four days later. Second week of September, 2008.  
Madison, WI_

 

[Dean, 10PM.]  
Hey, they told you about your schedule for the weekend?

[Sam]  
Hey, yeah. I'm on Friday night and Sunday brunch. Why? Wanna get together?

[Dean]  
Yeah, Saturday?

I can swing by on Friday night too

[Sam]  
Sure, come by Friday, I'll spot you some pool if you want. 

Maybe we can go to yours after? 

[Dean]  
Depends on how busy it is, if it's not too busy I'll just hang at the bar. I hear they got a hot bartender, wanna check him out, maybe get him to talk to me

[Sam]  
Thinking maybe you'll get lucky? 

I mean, you have a good track record with bartenders. I'd say the odds are in your favor but I know how much you enjoy the thrill of the chase, so I'll just say good luck. 

[Dean]  
Not about the chase with this one

[Sam]  
No? That's been fun too though, right?

You know, in a 100% crazy terrifying what's-going-on kind of way.

[Dean]  
Yeah.

[Sam]  
Yeah?

[Dean]  
Yeah. Just, I don't want him to think that's all I wanna do, have fun with the chase

Or get lucky

I just wanna see him so bad, right now that's all I care about

[Sam]  
Don't worry. I think that's pretty clear, both ways I hope. That's not what this is about. 

You gonna put him through the salt-silver-holy water test, just to make sure?

[Dean]  
Nah. Been keeping an eye on him long enough, all my life you could say. Pretty sure he's safe

[Sam]  
Good enough for me. 

Jesus, Dean. 

[Dean]  
Don't do that now, Sam

[Sam]  
Not doing anything

[Dean]  
I thought you were freaking out

[Sam]  
Furthest thing from it.

[Dean]  
Thank fuck.

[Sam]  
Is it Friday yet?

[Dean]  
No, it's only freaking Tuesday. Dude, I'm going crazy over here 

[Sam]  
Is there a rule that says we have to wait til Friday?

Dean?

You’re not freaking out, are you?

[Dean]  
Just give me a minute.

[After a few minutes.]  
You still studying at home tomorrow afternoon?

[Sam]  
I can be. I don't need to, though, I've got this class in the bag. 

[Dean]  
No, you should. I can come over and do my own thing while you're studying

[Sam]  
Okay.

[Dean]  
Ok

[Sam]  
I can't wait to see you. 

[Dean]  
Tell me about it

God, Sam

[Sam]  
You have no idea how long I've wanted to be able to say this to you. I want you so bad, Dean. So much. Wanting you feels like it's tied into my bones. 

[Dean]  
You know it's the same for me, right?

It's like all I've ever wanted, far as I can remember, and this is just something more, something on top, but the main thing's still there, always has been

Do you get what I'm saying?

[Sam]  
Yeah. I hear you, it's the same for me. You're my brother, always will be. Wouldn't want you not to be, honestly. 

Do you believe me, Dean? About what I said, about wanting you 

[Dean]  
I’m not gonna lie to you, I wanna believe you. But I need time to get my head around it

[Sam]  
Well, we've got time. Lots of it. 

[Dean]  
Yeah and that's why I don't want us to go all fatal attraction and it could happen, we could crash so bad

Because we took off too fast and lost control, I mean. Not cuz we’d be cooking rabbits

I'll see you tomorrow

[Sam]  
Okay. You come over and we'll go from there, play it by ear or whatever. Whatever you wanna do, I'll be cool with it, we can go slow. I get it, looking out for me, for us, that's your job. And mine is being a pain in your ass. 

Oh god I'm sorry, I'll stop talking. 

[Dean]  
Don't worry, I got plans to make you stop talking as soon as I see you, cotton candy mouth

Hey, how do you make a smirking smiley?

[Sam]  
Maybe :-] or :-}

What would you do without me? }:-}

[Dean]  
Nah. They look creepy. And none of them would do my awesome smirk justice

[Sam]  
What? They're not creepy, that second one looks like the Grinch.

[Dean]  
And there's the difference between a cool dude like me using smileys and a dork like you doing it

[Sam]  
Yeah, that's the main difference between us. How we use smileys. 

[Dean]  
It just highlights some things, what can I say? Maybe with time my cool will rub off on you

You know, if you work hard on it...;)

Man, I'm so good

[Sam]  
Oh, my god. You're not helping your case when all you make me want to do is smack you. I haven't decided yet if this smack that you deserve is the sexy kind or not. 

[Dean]  
Kinky princess! I like it

[Sam]  
Yeah and that's not all, I've been waiting for a chance to break out the Princess Leia gold bikini and slave chains I've been hiding in my closet for years. 

[Dean]  
Dude, no. You're not a fierce, tiny woman, you can't pull that off. Not shaming you if that's how you swing, just saying

Fuck, I wanna drive to the Dane right now

[Sam]  
Well I'll be here. 

[Dean]  
No kidding! That's kinda the point, dumbass

Good thing you’re so hot

[Sam]  
Good thing you tip so good when you're here. I could get you kicked out for being a smartass

[Dean]  
Bitch, smart or not, no one kicks my ass out of a bar unless I want it kicked out

[Sam]  
I have a couple of very specific memories that say otherwise. 

Jerk.

[Dean]  
What? I didn't care about being thrown out of those hell holes

[Sam]  
Whatever, you loved it. You were never one to turn down an honest fight against drunk rednecks, Dean. 

[Dean]  
Can’t argue with you there

Is that the only reason you don't get me kicked out? I must have been more generous with my tips than I remember, Sammy

[Sam]  
Not the only reason.

[Dean]  
Man, the rest of the time I can't shut you up, now you holding out on me?

[Sam]  
You waiting for me to say something specific? No chick flick moments, remember? I'm trying to play by your rules D.

[Dean]  
Oh now you play by my rules? I got to suffer through some pretty painful sap, dude, you owe me! 

[Sam]  
If you're one second late tomorrow I swear I'm gonna beat your ass into the ground.

[Dean]  
I’ll be there.

[Sam]  
I know you will. Okay, I gotta go or I'm gonna get fired. 

[Dean]  
Make sure you get home straight from work, don't want you to be yawning all afternoon tomorrow

[Sam]  
I will, Dean. Don't worry I'll be there. If I have to drink 5 red bulls I'll be awake for whatever you've got for me. 

[Dean]  
Hey, you're studying, I'm doing other stuff, that's the deal

I just want to see you, Sam.

Wanna be close to you

[Sam]  
You will be. Promise, Dean. You're all I want. You'll see. Crazy fucking world, huh?

[Dean]  
Not crazier than what we already know. I've been thinking, Sammy, what we've seen, what we've been through? That's crazy, evil and fucked up. Don't wanna think of you like that

[Sam]  
You make me want to say all the cheesy stupid stuff I've heard you mock the hell out of other people for saying all my life. Dean. I'm not crazy or evil or fucked up and neither are you. The shit we do for a living? That is so far off the radar that no one but us even has a right to comment on it. That's what I've been thinking about. 

See, I might be a civilian, but I haven't turned stupid. 

[Dean]  
I just know I got my hunter's gear with me and my car and I'm gonna see you tomorrow. That's all I care about. Now go back in there, I’m not paying your bills when they kick you out for texting on the job

[Sam, after 3AM]  
Good thing you moved here then, Dean. Best decision you ever made. 

[Dean]  
I can't believe I freaking waited for months to do it

Didn't want to trap you

[Sam]  
You trap me? I feel like it's the other way around. You're here playing house cause of me and sometimes I wonder, I worry how long it's going to last before you get restless and want out again. 

[Dean]  
Not gonna lie, Sam, maybe I'll get restless, maybe I'll itch to start moving sooner or later. But you can never trap me, you got that? Where you are is where I wanna be. Always have, always will. 

Jesus, I sound like a bad pop song, kill me now! This is what you should be worried about, dude

[Sam]  
Yeah, man, I feel like you just Rick Rolled me, that's creepy! Who are you and what have you done with my brother? I kinda need him.

[Dean]  
See if I open up and SHARE anymore. You need your brother so much, you're so gonna get him. I'm gonna bring my dirty laundry tomorrow, leave empty beer cans all over your room and not even gonna tell you your mouth is so pretty it drives me crazy

[Sam]  
As long as you come, I don't even care what you do. 

[Dean]  
You gotta start choosing your words more carefully

[Sam]  
I really think I meant what I said. 

[Dean]  
God Sammy, you can't do that

[Sam]  
Yeah, I can, Dean. I can, I want to, and so do you. 

[Dean]  
Tough. We're still going slow, not gonna mess this up. Why do you think I want us to hang out at your house with all your housemates home?

[Sam]  
Cuz you're a jerk and a tease. 

[Dean]  
Oh yeah, I'm the tease!

Get some sleep, Sammy. I'll see you tomorrow.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our story originally consisted of a Prologue and 35 chapters. That was the plan anyway - we are frankly amazed that we've managed to stick to those numbers. Even though we had all the text exchanges and most of the narrative extracts in drafts when we began posting, the structure was really more of a WIP. Anyway, you may have noticed that the chapter count has gone up from 35 to 36. One of the reasons is that AO3 marked our 'Prologue' as a separate chapter, but that was actually going to work out okay the way the structure developed. 
> 
> The other reason, however, the real one, is that we're adding a bonus chapter. I (stardust_made) was so moved by the response to the story that it changed the way I viewed the final part of it. Nothing's changed _in_ the story - there is now only an extra chapter (not saying which one) that we think you all deserve for sticking with our boys through thick and thin and being so vocal about your appreciation.♥ 
> 
> Bonus: Sam and Dean damn well deserve that extra chapter too.
> 
> The next update will likely be tomorrow, we're going on a posting spree this weekend! Then two more updates next week and it's _adios_ time for the College AU. My lower lip isn't wobbling, your lower lip is wobbling.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Third week of September, 2008_  
 _Madison, WI_

 

_Dean_

Dean was a man in dire need of advice.

Trouble was, no one could give it to him. No one would, even if he asked, which he was never going to. He couldn’t fathom a way to talk about this to anyone without mentioning it was about Sam. Go figure, seeing that if it weren’t about Sam, Dean was pretty sure he’d never have even needed to ask! The logical part of his brain, which Sam, screw him, once said was like a peanut, was starting to itch. 

But the point was that for anyone else: a random chick, a hooker, a horror movie star, a freaking Martian—hell, apparently a gay porn star, too—Dean would have gone on instinct. When he and Cassie had sex for the first time, it was a spur of the moment thing; they were all hot for each other, taking each other’s clothes off in the Impala’s back seat two days after they’d met and there was not a single thought in Dean’s head apart from how much he wanted her. She was gorgeous, and he really liked her. He had probably sensed on some level it wasn’t just about getting some, and yet there was still no agenda or timeline in his head. 

It was different with Sam. Sam was a timeline unto himself. Dean didn’t know years or months; he measured time with hunts and places and events, some of them his own, but a lot of them Sammy’s. Time was, _‘When Sammy got chicken pox.’_ Time was, _‘When my brother left for Stanford.’_ The memories evoked an instant full-bodied, intricate feeling of who Dean had been back then. To think of Sam meant to think of past, present and future. Dean had never started up a thing with anyone outside of ‘here and now’. Maybe because ‘here and now’ was all he had in the real world. Sam, on the other hand, was a constant, like a fine silver thread stretching across Dean’s timeline.

It was so damn hard to figure out this shit by himself—Dean was _not_ equipped for this kind of mental torture. He second-guessed himself all the time and sometimes he stopped thinking about Sam and their situation so abruptly, it was like getting a blow to the head. He’d be working on the wipers of a car for longer than the damn things deserved and his brain would just switch off, and then Dean would just watch in a haze his hands working like they knew what to do without the dispatch center in his head telling them. It was awesome, he could do with more of that, please. If his brain wasn’t such a jerk in general, Dean would have loved it a little for how the thing was protecting itself from a burnout. 

The following Friday after the movies Dean went to The Dane an hour before Sam’s break, then they took off in the car. They drove to a nearby dead-end street and parked Baby at the bottom near some trash bins, turned off the engine and nearly pawed at each other’s faces as they started kissing. Dean broke it off first, physically sliding away from Sam until he felt his back hit the door. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s mouth. Sam’s lips were shining. Dean had made them shine with his own spit. His body was crying out in arousal.

“Dean?” Sam said, and only then did Dean notice that Sam’s eyes were glistening too. The feeling was not so pleasant—even in the dark Dean could tell it was a confused, going-for-anxious kind of glisten.

“Hey,” Dean told him, clearing his throat in the next exhale.

“Hey,” Sam echoed softly. None of them said anything for a while. The more Sam wasn’t advancing, the more Dean wanted to go back to kissing him. So he did.

On the drive back Dean suddenly turned down the volume. “I’m thinking of getting in touch with Ellen,” he told Sam. “See if there’s something that needs taking care of close by.” 

“Okay,” Sam said in a beat. “Do you want me to come with?”

“No. Yeah. No.” Dean rolled his eyes at himself. “You stay here, you got classes and work.”

Sam was silent for longer this time, to the point where Dean shot him a glance to find him looking at his own fingers as they demolished some tiny piece of paper in his lap. His profile was so beautiful, so unequivocally Sammy’s, it made Dean’s bones ache. 

“Sure,” Sam said at last. 

There were two minutes left until they got to The Dane and it was suddenly imperative that they finished this conversation, never mind that Sam had offered an end to it.

“I need to do something with myself, okay?” Dean said. His hand landed on Sam’s knee on its own accord, giving it a squeeze. Sam lifted his head abruptly, his whole body coming alive like Dean’s touch was magic. “Or I’m going to drive myself nuts thinking,” Dean added.

“Yeah, all right.” Sam nodded quickly. “I get that.” 

God, he fucking loved Sam’s voice.

When Dean had arrived at The Dane earlier he’d waited for Sam’s break sitting within literal shouting distance of the bar. Being close to Sammy in public now made his skin crawl with how self-conscious he felt and each time Sam’s gaze had fallen on him Sam’s face had transformed into that of a goofy teenager with a crush on the girl with the shiniest hair. It made Dean happier than he could put in words, and it went a long, long way towards reassuring him that he was not freaking…hoodooing his brother into believing he really wanted to hook up with him. But it didn’t change the mortifying realization that as soon as they started talking to each other both their faces must have broadcasted to anyone with eyes just how besotted they were. Well, Dean was for sure. Although the abundant dimples and the pink flushes and the flamingo-on-ecstasy movements were kind of hard to argue with—Sammy was in, too. Dean could weep tears of joy.

But he didn’t because that wasn’t his M.O. and he was too busy worrying about everything. Like, what kind of life was this? Staying away from each other in public. Sneaking out to dark spots, where God knew what kind of human and monster scum could be lurking. It was a sickening allusion to what their relationship was like, one Dean knew part of him was gruesomely ready to accept, and he had to change that right this fucking minute. 

Maybe they both needed to move out, then move in together and practice being around each other in some safe space or something. The thought was ludicrous—it was _Sam_ —and scary in how it sounded like a recipe for disaster. Yeah, sure, let them start living in each other’s pockets again, right after they were finally managing to function together simultaneously without biting each other’s heads off and with some reciprocity on the making out front. 

Or maybe if he and Sam got it out of their system they’d be able to look at each other without making incestuous alarm bells toll in the heads of random passersby. Or maybe it’d make it worse; maybe it would leave some sort of stamp on them, like indelible ink on their foreheads: _I’m fucking my brother._

Nothing seemed foolproof. There was no lore to check, no books with dates and facts, no ingredients to gather for a ritual. There was nothing Dean could shoot in the head or stab in the heart and be done with it. This whole thing with Sam was so far from what Dean was used to, what he was good at, that he did need to go kill something as the equivalent of a spa weekend to help him chill out.

So after he spoke to Ellen, Dean took off for Iowa. The hunt did help, inasmuch as it was hard to think of anything else while you dealt with a shapeshifter in a frat house. But on his way back to Madison Dean’s brain was at it again, briefly entertaining the fantasy of calling Ellen back and confiding in her. He’d manage to make it sound as a generic need of relationship advice. Appeal to her maternal instincts or whatever. (He’d have to make sure he described a particular chick, though; one that had little to do with Jo.) Yet once again the reality of how much Dean was stuck because it was about Sam refused to be taken for a minor obstacle. Besides, what if Ellen guessed? What if Dean gave himself away while thinking he was being subtle and sly? Sam was able to read him like an open book all those times when Dean was sure he was like goddamn Jack Nicholson, acting awards sadly never coming his way. What if Ellen could do it too? She was pretty sharp and she looked like someone who’d be able to read you inside out and upside down, while she was pouring you your third whiskey with a fixed, pleasant, neutral smile.

Dean knew it was mighty hypocritical of him but in truth, if anyone did readily offer their input on how to advance your sexual relationship with your brother then Dean didn’t want to speak to them. It was weird how his mind was beginning to accept him and Sam together _that_ way as something that was plain true, beyond morally objectionable, yet still recoiled at the general concept of incest—he cringed at the word itself—and those who practiced it, or even condoned it. Yep, big time hypocrite, ain’t that the truth? It was still in the middle of his list of problems.

One question had managed to crystalize from all the brooding and head-banging-inducing levels of confusion and climb to the top: how fast was too fast when it came to having sex with Sam?

In all honesty, Dean wasn’t sure whether they hadn’t already had sex. There’d been a lot of fooling around and one person had already had an orgasm, albeit unplanned. Did that count? He had no idea what the hell even qualified as sex between two guys, theoretically. So far sex for Dean? He just did it. Or had it, or whatever. It was never a big deal. An exchange of smiles or phone numbers, often some liquor, then two people’s body parts dancing together naturally without Dean as much as having to stop and sketch out some basic choreography for them. Muscles and flesh burning pleasantly, another exchange, this one of bodily fluids, until at some point boom—he was done. He’d never had a problem getting it up and he’d never had an orgasm that was disappointing. He never screwed people he didn’t find attractive and he was always aware they were there, making sure they knew he knew. (Being very drunk didn’t count.) It wasn’t that he was some sex manual nerd; he just instinctively understood that half of the awesomeness of sex was thanks to the other person and he took pleasure in paying his respects to them. Plus, it was a matter of pride. No woman was going to walk away from Dean Winchester not feeling like she’d been treated well. He just knew his way around these things like a stray cat knew its way around a village.

That was before he’d gone and fallen in love with Sam. He should have seen this coming. Nothing involving Sam was ever going to be simple because nothing about Dean’s little brother could ever pass up the opportunity to involve core-of-the-Earth-goddamn-deep thoughts and feelings.

\---

The whole going slow rule, it was self-imposed. Sam didn’t seem to need it, but it wasn’t his call to make. It was Dean’s job to make sure they were all right, that Sam was all right. He didn’t see how this was so different from taking care of Sam in general. Dad sure had not meant, _Pace yourself before having sex with your little brother,_ when he’d told Dean to watch out for Sammy a million times over. But Dean didn’t think about Dad. As soon as his mind even tried to approach Dad in that context, it sort of bounced back like a rubber ball from some hard, invisible surface. Dean was good with that. Whatever was necessary, as long as it didn’t lead to another freak-out.

He’d been so freaked out by his freak-out at the cinema that he never wanted to go through the same thing again. He never wanted to see Sam’s hurt, tearful face again on principle, but being the one to have dealt the blow was enough to make him want to rip his own lungs out. The one solution that presented itself, much to Dean’s pride in how heavy and grown-up it sounded, was to go slow. Smart people went slow. Mature people went slow. Characters on TV shows always talked about going slow. Mostly women, come to think of it, and chicks knew about this stuff more than guys did. Dean was going to make it work. If they took it step by step, if nothing was sprung on Dean out of the blue and he had the chance to wrap his mind around what was happening, he wouldn’t freak out. Sam would have a chance too, to say no. It was hard for Dean to shake off his big brother protectiveness. On some level, he was making himself sick every time he thought of taking Sam to bed, with the implication that he would be somehow taking advantage of him being as strong as it was irrational. 

The fact that it was irrational was pretty much proven all the time by Sam himself who, with his happily mussed hair and glowing eyes every time they did something physical, really did not look like someone who was in turmoil. No one could be so deep in denial, Dean had thought a time or two; on one memorable occasion after he’d just pulled back from Sam’s neck where he had been discovering all the sweet spots that made Sam sigh and push more against Dean’s eager mouth. The look on Sammy’s face had been such a cross between blissed out and frustrated that it was really difficult to picture some twisted psychological forces being at play somewhere on another level. 

Sam seemed to want it. Dean had evidence for that in all kinds of ways, including in writing. But he was still afraid he’d push it, break something irreparably if he rushed things.

Until Sam creamed his pants, literally. They’d been standing by the wall behind the door in Sam’s room, pressed against each other and trying to make as little noise as possible while their bodies undulated in search of more contact. Hands roaming, eager to sneak under layers of clothing and get their fill of some skin…

Sam’s skin, _fuck me sideways_ , Dean was dying to see him naked. He’d seen Sam clad only in his boxer shorts or with a towel wrapped around his waist so many times just in the last couple of years. But it was like Dean had been wearing a semi-transparent hood on his head. He knew the hood would be off now, if only he could look…

Their mouths had met desperately again and again, struggling with being appointed the main outlet of want. They’d kissed light and tender, they’d kissed deep and rough, their crotches constantly grinding against each other and seeking that angle that was just so right. Dean hadn’t even realized it; he was drunk on Sam, his desire for him tunnel-visioning him completely.

Then Sam had suddenly started shuddering, chin propped on Dean’s shoulder. It was digging in to the point of pain, while Sammy dissolved into broken exhalations, whimpering a couple of times. His hands had clawed into where they’d been holding onto Dean’s back and only his hips had kept moving, pressing forward and upward then kind of dropping back, then again… Dean had frozen, momentarily disoriented, until all the elements had joined together into a full picture in a single second.

When Sam sagged in his arms at last, Dean just held him there, one hand buried in the hair at the nape of his neck. At last Sam stopped sounding like a broken tea kettle and tried to ‘unglue’ his groin from Dean’s body.

“God,” he said, sliding down so his forehead pressed against Dean’s shoulder. He then went on muttering a string of things in one breath, only some of the words audible. There was Dean’s name amongst them and a few ‘sorry’s. 

Dean got his fingers under Sam’s chin, making him look up. Sam’s face was crimson and he avoided meeting Dean’s gaze. He was mortified and sweaty and so damn pretty Dean was ready to cry.

“Dean, just—” Sam gulped, gaze dropping again. “Don’t laugh, okay, I’m sorry. God, I can’t believe I did that, I’m sorry—”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean interrupted, ducking his head and trying to catch his stupid brother’s eye. “Dude, this was like in the top three hottest things I’ve ever seen.”

At that Sam’s eyes had jumped to meet his but he’d just made some unintelligible motion with his head, then tried to bury his face in the crook of Dean’s neck again. Dean let him.

“I’m just…” Sam’s hands had fallen limply by his body. They lifted, tentatively taking hold of Dean’s t-shirt by his waist. “I didn’t mean to—Sorry, okay? When I said that we could wait… Honestly, we can, I was just, I don’t know, I’m sorry, I—”

Dean interrupted him again by lifting his chin. But this time he kissed him, warm and careful, trying to erase Sammy’s need to speak and especially his need to apologize.

 _We’re done waiting,_ he’d thought. _We’re done waiting, baby boy._

\---

_Two days later,_  
_Madison, WI_

 

_Sam_

The bass was thumping so loud Sam couldn’t feel his own pulse. A disturbing feeling no matter the setting but considering the fact that he felt like his heart had abandoned him, run on ahead at a breakneck pace somehow expecting him to catch up, the word wasn’t so much _disturbing_ as _terrifying_.

They were in a tiny basement venue beneath a pizza place on the east side of town. Dean had told him to choose where they went, he’d been adamant. Dean said they were going to go wherever Sam wanted to go, so Sam looked around and picked this place. He'd been here a couple of times before but it felt different now, knowing Dean was there with him, that Dean was his _date_ and since they’d already eaten and had a few beers and neither of them liked the music that was playing, they were only still here because they were waiting until Dean’s roommate left for his night shift, until he left the house empty and safe for the two of them. Dean had disappeared a minute ago to get another drink and Sam was on fire with _go go go_ anxiety, ready to jump out of his skin every time someone brushed up against him.

Which was every two seconds because he was in a room meant for maybe fifty now playing host to at least two hundred, the band up on the makeshift stage screaming into the mics like they thought they were performing for the Royal Albert Hall or something, and Sam was gripping his sweating glass like a lifeline to a saner, safer world where he wasn’t worried about losing it because of where he was and where he was going next and who he was going there with—

—It could have been anyone, that presence at his back. A polite hand on his hip so he’d move aside. An enthusiastic dancer who got a little too close. A puff of breath against his ear asking him—

—asking him nothing, because this was his brother. This was his _brother_. This was Dean; the best part of himself. It wouldn’t have meant anything, in another time and place, with the way they were packed in here like sardines and usually Dean would be trying to say something to him so logic dictated he'd keep close.

But Dean wasn’t talking, now, and Sam couldn’t hear anything, anyway, so he lifted his nearly-empty glass to his lips but didn’t drink, just pressed back against his brother, bringing their hips, their bodies, their goddamn _everything_ into alignment, and the moment when he felt that almost-startled gasp against his ear, that’s when he turned his head.

"Dean," he murmured, and he’d swear he could see the eddies of breath from his own lungs swirl in the air for a moment before disappearing readily, gladly, _greedily_ between Dean's lips.

Maybe the way Sam found himself able to hold all these different images in his head all at once, maybe that made him fucked up. Maybe the fact that he could remember the night a barely-teenaged Dean held him tight and kept him safe until the sun came up and the monsters disappeared, take that precious memory and reconcile it with his adult fantasies of throwing Dean down and sucking bruise after deep, aching bruise into his beautiful brother's fair skin, maybe that made him a freak. Maybe that was his damage to carry around, but it had been weeks, now, of kissing Dean in stolen moments, maxing out his SMS plan and freaking coming in his pants because nobody had ever made him feel like Dean did…Weeks of all this and it hardly felt like any added weight to his load.

Dean, the Dean pressed up against him now, was twenty-nine and looking so damn fine and so godawful fragile, so much more scared now than Dean the White Knight of Sam’s childhood, Sam wanted to pin him to a bed and take him apart piece by piece.

Maybe desire itself had a weight, Sam mused, testing Dean, pressing himself back against Dean. Forbidden desire, shameful and impossible, that was unbearably heavy. But when the dream deferred walks in the daylight and the object of abject desire manifests within reach, that weight evaporated, turned you lighter than air. Sam certainly felt lighter than he had in years in that moment when he leaned against Dean and even there, in the middle of a crowd, where anyone could have seen them, Dean sighed against Sam’s neck and didn’t pull away. And then he was blinking up at Sam, his eyes two bright and glittering embers that lit up just for him, just for Sam. 

_So much depends_ … Sam thought. _So much depends upon a moment of stillness, in the middle of a crowd, when we’re done waiting._

Maybe Sam was overthinking things, as usual.

And maybe it really was Dean crowding him up against the outside wall under cover of darkness. Maybe it really was his own voice giving way to that groan, shaking loose something luminous and vital deep inside him when he hitched his hips against Dean, when Dean gasped and bit down on Sam’s lip. 

Maybe Sam was already looking forward to the morning, even before Dean laid a hand on him. Waking up after a mere couple of hours with Dean already hard and nudging at him, licking into his mouth and begging silently for more. Maybe, anything was possible, Dean might let Sam roll him onto his back and maybe he’d get to slide down Dean's gorgeous, fucking unreal body, lick at the sharp cuts of his hip bones and nuzzle through the soft nest of hair. And maybe he’d finally be allowed to lick up the length of him, take Dean into his mouth and show him just what exactly his brother would do for him.

Yes. Sam would die for him. Kill for him. Sell his soul and more for him. And this. For him. Sam would crawl inside Dean’s skin and live there happily with him, give him everything and then more. Maybe that was weird but Sam decided, blinking and finding himself on Dean’s bed now, beaming up at Dean, laughing and feeling his throat close up the way that only a person who’d found his damnation and his epiphany in the same place could do, that it didn’t matter in the slightest. 

Sam decided he was done with maybes. _Maybe_ nothing – he was here with Dean, Dean was flesh and blood, flushed and freckled-skinned, looming over him, his most beloved voice chanting in rhythm with Sam’s, call and response, a litany of love and lust that swept Sam up and pulled him under, wave after wave of holy ecstasy calling him home.

Until finally Dean relaxed enough to let go and lose himself in that tide, too. Finally let himself rock against him like Sam wanted him to, finally stop thinking only about what felt good for Sam and took some of this for himself, too. Sam had crawled his way back from oblivion twice before Dean finally broke open, before his nails turned sharp as his breath gusted hot and damp across Sam’s skin, before he was finally shaking to pieces in Sam’s arms.

"C'mere," Dean gasped, and Sam laid himself out over his brother and kissed him hard. "Sammy," the word was choked, bitten off. Sam keened and bucked against Dean, and when Dean surged up to kiss him, to wrap his arms and legs around him, Sam threw himself back into the ocean of his brother on a cry that would wake the dead.

There were sticky puddles down Dean's stomach when Sam came back online, and Sam registered little more than a warm, heavy hand between his shoulder blades. Realized slowly that he was on his side with Dean wrapped around him like Sam was a grenade that just went off and his brother the brave soldier to throw himself down over the explosion. 

The look on Dean’s face was like he'd seen the Messiah walk among them. He wasn’t meeting Sam's eyes; his fingers were skirting the edges on the mess on Sam’s skin. 

Sam wanted to weep. But that would be misunderstood, and they couldn’t afford that, so he didn’t.

"I might keep you," was what he said instead, but before he did he got his arms clamped tight around his brother. Dean might talk a big game but they both knew he wasn’t getting away from Sam's grasp, not if Sam didn’t want him to.

"Dude.” It was not possible to get them any closer but Sam was pretty sure that was what Dean was trying to do. “You try to return me and I will haunt your ass. You broke it, you bought it."

"I'm okay with that." Sam rolled them so he was on top of Dean, feeling Dean tense up, fight-or-flight, before suddenly relaxing, melting as Sam's lips were drawn like a magnet to the marred skin of his neck.

"God, Sam. Sammy. I—fuck, yeah, okay," Dean was babbling, eyes wide, shock and wonder like he’d never even let himself imagine he’d ever get to see Sam from this angle. See Sam’s eyes heavy and brimming with lust, all for him. 

"Oh, god, Dean.” Sam had to close his eyes. Sensory overload. “Dean. _Dean_.”

“Do you ever say anything else?” Dean asked in his ear, lips against skin, distracting and brilliant. 

Sam laughed out loud and turned his head, blind and fearless, to kiss his brother and tell him with lips and hips and trembling hands, _No, Dean. Dean. I really don’t._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dream deferred is borrowed from [Langston Hughes](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175884)  
> So much depends... from [William Carlos Williams](http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/red-wheelbarrow)
> 
> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_The following night. Third week of September, 2008_  
 _Madison, WI_

 

[Sam]  
Hey Dean?

[Dean]  
Yeah?

[Sam]  
You know last night? That was entirely worth waiting for.

[Dean]  
Yeah?

[Sam]  
Yeah. You're just. Well, you're amazing.

I keep wanting to say something stupid like thank you, but that's kinda weird, right?

Sorry, I'll shut up now, I just wanted to tell you.

[Dean]  
Can’t stop thinking about it. You're so hot, you're amazing too

[Sam]  
Yeah?

God, I can't stop thinking about you. I can't get my head around it, no one's ever made me feel so good, I feel like I'm on the top of the world and the fact that it's you who put me there, Jesus, Dean, I don't even know what to say.

[Dean]  
Welcome to the club!

And you just said like a thousand words, dumbass

[Sam]  
It's a pretty awesome club. Very exclusive. You and me and everyone else can fuck off.

Hey, shut up. I think I remember you had a lot to say for yourself last night, too.

[Dean]  
No idea what you mean

[Sam]  
Between the way you look at me and the way you talk to me, I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did.

Which was like five seconds the first time shut up, I know, I was there.

[Dean]  
So hot when you came, Jesus

Where's that smirking smiley when you need it

[Sam]  
Shut up. Like you did much better.

[Dean]  
You shut up! I'd had it up for like a week, then I had to watch you come, what do you expect? I'm human

[Two minutes later.]  


Sammy, was it enough for you? You good with what we did?

[Sam]  
Yeah, Dean, more than good. 

You felt so damn good, the way you touched me and the things you said. 

[Dean]  
You feel better than anything. I mean it

[Sam]  
Better than anything?

[Dean]  
Yes.

[Sam]  
You too. Better than anything.

Feel like I've been waiting my whole life to see you like that. You're amazing, Dean, so fucking gorgeous when you let go. 

[Dean]  
Thought I was gonna black out for a bit

[Sam]  
I think you kinda did black out for a bit. 

Think I did too.

[Dean]  
My fault, shouldn't have kept us waiting so long

[Sam]  
No, it’s good. I'm glad you did.

If I tell you that you always know what's best are you gonna be a smug bastard about it?

[Dean]  
I’m never smug

Your face when you come, I swear, I can't wait

[Sam]  
Oh yeah, you're never smug. You're hilarious. 

Me neither. When? 

[Dean]  
Tomorrow? Rashid's home now and I'm like totally beat and you won't finish before 2, right? But we can drive somewhere tomorrow, I don't care where

[Sam]  
I don't care either. I feel like I need you, Dean, like I'm craving you and there's nothing I can do about it. 

[Dean]  
Same here

There is actually, I'm thinking how about I drive over and pick you up tonight, we can come back here, we just gotta be quiet. You've stayed here before and maybe Rashid's got an early shift tomorrow so he won't even know you were here

[Sam]  
Okay, yeah, let's do that. I want to say we shouldn't even do anything, and we totally don't have to, I just don't think the odds of actually sticking to that are very good. I'm so beat right now I just want to kiss you and go to sleep but I have a feeling I'll get my second wind the second you get a hand on me.

[Dean]  
Let's just go with whatever happens, alright? Just want you right next to me

[Sam]  
There's honestly nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now, Dean. I'll see you soon, okay?

[Dean]  
Ok  
—

_Three days later_

[Dean, 9:00PM]  
So fucking glad at least this one wasn’t a three-day job, adios bitch! 

Heading back in a couple of hours I hope. Curse is wearing off but I wanna play it safe, freaking witches, dude!

[25 minutes later.]  
Sammy, I’m bored and the room smells like an ashtray

[5 minutes later.]  
That was a pretty sappy talk we had last night, I feel like I should grow a third ball or something

[30 minutes later.]  
Dude, where are you, I’ve been calling you like you owe me money. I’m gonna take off soon, I’ll drive straight over to pick up my sappy princess. I know it’ll be the middle of the night but tough

[Sam]  
That’s awesome! Didn’t think you were coming back tonight your sappy princess got a little sloppy drunk after work sorry Dean! 

[Dean]  
It's ok. Can't wait to take Trashy back home with me

[Sam]  
I’m not trashy.

Im an awesome drunk. You can't wait to kiss me

[Dean]  
How drunk are you? Is it like, I'm gonna be taking advantage of you if I feel you up? 

[Sam]  
Ugh dean remember that creepy bed and breakfast with the creepy girl and the hoodoo and the ghost

Little kid ghosts are the worst, not witches

[Dean]  
Yeah, I remember and they suck for two adults, jeez. Why?

[Sam]  
You know what, sometimes even when i miss hunting i don't miss things like that night

[Dean]  
You don't have to miss hunting

And I'd be freaked out if you missed things like that!

[Sam]  
I don't wanna get sucked into all the end of the world and destiny bullshit again! I couldn't do that again dean that was the worst, that sucked 

[Dean]  
We're just gonna find some hauntings, a zombie or something, you know? Or even something like this job, I hate witches but they’re not above our pay grade, right? Someone's gotta take care of all those s.o.bs. No more big stuff, we lay low, what was I telling you that one time? 

[Sam]  
We should check out that eqinox ghost i told you about

[Dean]  
Yeah, let’s do that 

I miss hunting with you, dude. No pressure and I get it. If you never do it again, I get it ok? Just been wanting to say that to you forever

Can I tell you something else? You get me so hot when you say I'm not trashy, I remember how you said it when you came home with me after that night with the party at your place

[Sam]  
That was a great party

[Dean]  
It was a great party until we got here and you were all over my bed, Trashy and I couldn't even touch you

[Sam]  
I'm not trashy! Shut up. You could have touched me

[Dean]  
No I couldn't, not then, and not just cuz you were drunk

Man, how could you get yourself smashed, I can't lay a finger on you now and you're so damn hot when you're drunk, the things I wanna do to you

[Sam]  
What? Why not? Don't be stupid Dean of course you can touch me.

What things? You should do them. Not gonna fall asleep i swear.

[Dean]  
I don't know, Sammy, it's creepy, what if you can't say no?

[Sam]  
Im never gonna say no to you D

Man you showed up that night i thought you were gonna be so pissed! I just didnt want you to meet some of the stupid people that were there but then it was great. You were great. Everyone loves you everyone always thinks you're great

I thought you were great my whole life so they can all suck it ha! I had you first dean!

[Dean]  
Yeah I'm awesome and yeah, you have me. What are you gonna do with me then? Oh wait, probably fall asleep and drool all over me. Spaz

[Sam]  
Shut up! I am not. I'm gonna get you naked and I'm gonna kiss you and say yes, I'm not gonna drool on you jesus i'm not five

[Dean]  
So cute when you get your panties in a bunch that you're a big boy. I'm gonna make you feel so good, I swear

[Sam]  
Jerk. I am a big boy.

[Dean]  
Yeah, you are!;)

[Sam]  
Bigger than you. Dude we NEED a smirking face

[Dean]  
I'm the only one who's ever gonna use the smirking smiley if we find one! 

[Sam]  
You can't enforce that! You're not the texting police!

[Dean]  
I can! I'm older and I thought of the smirking smiley first and I have like a thousand more reasons to smirk than you do, geek boy!

[Sam]  
What! Only one of those things is true!

[Dean]  
They're all true, suck it up

[Sam]  
I’ll suck you up, jerkface

[Dean]  
Jerkface? Sammy, I love it when you talk dirty

You will? Suck me up? You wanna?

[Sam]  
Hell yeah dean I've been thinking about it all day

You gott o be nice though since I don't know what i'm doing. No laughing at me.

And let me practice til i'm the best? 

I want to be the best you ever had. That's my goal. I'm very goal oriented that's what everyone always says.

[Dean]  
Never gonna laugh at you about any of that. Unless you like trip over your own feet cuz you're a spaz 

[Sam]  
Whatever. I’m still a big boy!

[Dean]  
It's not my fault God forgot he was cooking you and went out for a smoke so you ended up gigantic everything!

[Sam]  
Dude God doesn't smoke 

Why would you say god smokes?

[Dean]  
Who are you now, god's mother? How do you know he doesn’t smoke? 

[Sam]  
Why would he? it's bad for you.

[Dean]  
Dude, he's God!

[Sam]  
You don't even believe in God!

[Dean]  
Don't change the subject, it's logic not belief or whatever. God can do whatever he wants cuz he's boss

[Sam]  
You never told me what stuff you wanna do to me

[Dean]  
We’ll do all the stuff that's hot for you, anything you want

I'm gonna get you naked and I'm gonna play with you so good until you're out of your mind then I'm gonna let you blow me

[Sam]  
Yeah? Jesus, okay Dean yeah that'll be good.

[Dean]  
You want that? Seriously, I want you to always tell me even if you're like a little not sure, ok, Sam? Promise!

[Sam]  
Ok if I end up hating it I'll tell you. I hope I don't though cause i really reall want to do that for you. I've been imagining it forever. Dont know why it just feels important.

[Dean]  
You've been thinking about stuff like that? You touched yourself when you did it?

[Sam]  
Yeah. Did you?

[Dean]  
Hell yeah! I gotta tell you I got some first class spank bank material in my head, it’s like a 24/7 free porn channel. 

[Sam]  
Yeah? Thinking about me? What, tell me.

[Dean]  
Just stuff. 

[Sam]  
What kind of stuff? Come on D tell me!

[Dean, after a few minutes]  
Like how you're drunk just a little and I get you in my lap with your back to me and we're fucking and I keep touching you and I'm jerking you off while you're rocking on my dick and I keep telling you you're so good to me and asking you is that feeling good, trashy and you moan and you're all sweaty and you mutter 'm not trashy

That kind of stuff

[Sam]  
God, Dean

Can we do that? 

Sometime?

You want to fuck me?

[Dean]  
I do

[Sam]  
Really?

[Dean]  
You gotta ask? Yeah, really, really

We'll take it easy, ok? It's gonna be so good, I promise you but no rushing. Damn it, you make me wanna sprint for my life

[Sam]  
Can't stop thinking how hot you looked when you were on top of me, kissing my neck and talking to me. I swear everything you do is so fucking sexy how do you do it? 

[Dean]  
And now all I'm thinking about is doing all that when I see you later 

[Sam]  
Yeah do that i like that. I like how you tell me how much you want me. 

[Dean]  
You like it when I’m talking to you? 

[Sam]  
Yes, drives me crazy. The way you talk, oh my god Dean. Never thought i'd get to hear you say those things to me.

Could come just from your voice. 

Well, maybe, is that possible? It seems ambitious, we should try. 

We gotta start making a list.

[Dean]  
Oh my god, such a nerd, I don't even know why I wanna be around you so much!

You're like the hottest, nerdiest nerd

[Sam]  
You love me

[Dean, after a minute.]  
Yeah

[Sam]  
Yeah.

No accounting for taste I guess.

Glad you do though.

Even though I'm a nerd.

Which I'm not, by the way!

And anyway nerds are cool now. Nerdy is the new sexy, ask anyone

[Dean]  
Can I be a part of this conversation?

Don't need to ask anyone, just have to look at you

[Sam]  
So good to me

Do you have anything to add? Maybe something about how geeks are super awesome? 

[Dean]  
Dude, you're embarrassing yourself, I should get there sooner, save you from talking more

[Sam]  
Fine net time its your turn to get sloppy and spill your guts to me! 

I'm not embarrassing

I konw exactly what i am but now i'm not gonna say it

[Dean]  
Come on, baby boy, tell me

You're spillin no guts, you're talking out of your ass about nerds and geeks! Fine, you're the most gorgeous, awesome geek boy in the galaxy, doesn't mean your kind is cool! Speaking the truth here, man

[Sam]  
Shut up, why do you have to be a jerk about it.

No, youll just think i'm embarassing.

Anyway if you don't know the answer then you're blind as whatever's blind that's not a bat because bats are totally not blind.

[Dean]  
Just kidding, Sammy, just messing with you. I'm gonna kiss you so sweet when I see you

A mole? Moles are blind

[Sam]  
Are they?

[Dean]  
Yeah, pretty sure they are

[Sam]  
Why do you know that did you hunt demon moles once?

Well then you are my stupid mole brother. 

[Dean]  
Alright, Trashy, you’re not making any sense anymore, good thing I’m leaving now so you get some shuteye, ok? 

[Sam]  
I’m not trashy. 

I’m not Trashy ;)

[Dean]  
Fuck, you’ll be the death of me

See you soon, baby boy


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our sincere gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for the enthusiastic and thoughtful beta and to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) for the gorgeous graphics.
> 
> There is a flashback to a hunt in Sam's POV that the author wrote in one breath, realizing only after it was done that it was subconsciously inspired by Linden's beautiful work [Four Winters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1007585/chapters/1998257).
> 
> We apologize for the week gap in updating, but we hope this double-size chapter is worth the wait. It is, essentially, the last chapter of the actual story - the final one is our Epilogue. Thank you all so very much for all the kudos, comments and cheering along, it's been incredible to see something that existed for so long only between two people - okay, four people! - take flight and be discovered and loved by so many others.♥

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

_Third week of October,_  
_Madison, WI_

 

_Sam_

The night before Dean took off on his latest hunt, they met up at the bowling alley with some of Sam’s housemates. 

They had it mostly down to a good routine by then: Wednesdays and Sundays Dean came over for dinner and just didn't leave, and they'd sleep in Sam's bed. Which was both the best and worst thing in the world, being pressed close for hours on end with no one to pretend for even though they didn't dare do anything when they knew anyone was home, and someone was always home. And on nights Rashid worked, Sam would park his car a couple blocks away and walk to Dean's house, slip out in the morning before he woke up. Not that he hadn't stayed the night before all this, once every couple of weeks or so, but Sam figured if Rashid was coming home every morning to find Sam's car in the driveway, he was going to start asking questions. Or at least he’d be thinking them.

They didn’t see each other every day, but it was a near thing. And as the weeks went on, substituting talking on the phone or texting for spending the evening together became less and less satisfying but, Sam figured, they were both stuck in their leases, stuck in their lives as brothers-nothing-more, so what could they do. They got by.

Bowling night drew Sam out of his still fragile, new comfort zone. He’d been cleaning up from dinner, listening to Dean rant about his job. When his neck started hurting, Sam shifted his phone to his other ear, clamping it again between chin and shoulder while he ran hot water over his dishes. “No way,” he said, when Dean finally let him get a word in. “No one’s that stupid.”

“This guy is,” Dean assured him, and over the line Sam heard the faint sound of a cap popping off a bottle and then Dean groaning as he settled into his couch. “If he spent as much time working as he does looking at porn in the bathroom, he’d be running the place. I’m serious, I do not get paid enough to clean up after horny, teenage asswipes.”

Sam snorted and rested his plate in the drying rack. “Downside of having no job history and no references, I guess. Welcome to the real world.”

“Shut up,” Dean said without real heat. “And Bobby gave me an awesome reference, so whatever. The real world can kiss my ass.”

Sam stepped aside to let Kate squeeze past him, trailing Jasmine and Jasmine’s little sister, who was visiting for the weekend, into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Kate said, putting her hand on his shoulder and nodding to the phone. “Is that Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Hi, Dean,” she called, loud and much too close to Sam’s ear.

“Kate says hi,” Sam said, mock-glaring at her.

“Hey, sweetheart!” Dean yelled back, making Sam swear and pull the phone away from his ear, and then glance guiltily at Jasmine’s sister. The teenager just rolled her eyes. “Dean says hey back,” Sam grumbled.

“I heard,” Kate laughed. “Hey, we’re taking Kristie bowling, you guys want to come? Carter and Ahmed and Julia are meeting us there.”

Sam opened his mouth but drew a blank, no ready excuse coming to mind. Dean, though, snorted a laugh a said, “Dude, we don’t bowl.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean? We’ve gone bowling.”

“Do you _remember_ the last time we went bowling? Here, put me on speaker. Kate, you there? Trust me on this—you don't want to take Sammy bowling.”

“Dude, what?” Sam glared down at his phone. “Why not?”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Too good or too bad?”

“Last time I took Sam bowling he broke the record for least number of pins hit. Actually I think it was for least number of balls that actually made it more than halfway down the lane.” 

Kate laughed, though not meanly — she and Dean had developed some kind of friendship that seemed to revolve around teasing Sam at every opportunity. 

“I was a little kid, _Dean_ , and you wouldn’t let me use the right size ball.”

“Because it was pink. My little brother wasn’t gonna be caught playing with some sparkly pink balls. Ha!”

Sam grimaced, feeling his face flush, but Kate was there, filling in what could have been a terribly awkward silence. “One of these days, Dean, sweetheart, we’re going to address your latent homophobia.”

“I’m not homophobic!” Dean said, and Sam was honestly shocked by the lack of venom or bluster in Dean’s voice. He just sounded…huh. Anxious, maybe? Nervous. “Kate, am I homophobic? I’m not really, am I?”

Kate leaned around Sam to speak directly into his phone. “Okay, no, not really. But you do kind of talk like a sexist hick sometimes. Do you get how implying that something meant for a girl isn’t ‘good enough’ for a boy is sexist?”

“Huh,” Dean said after a couple of seconds, and Sam could bet he was giving his considering frown-shrug-nod before he remembered they couldn’t see him. “Yeah, all right. I’ll work on it.”

Sometime, sometime soon, Sam was going to ask Dean how he did it. How he was carrying on like nothing had changed when Sam felt he could barely look his old friends in the eye when Dean was around, when Dean was even mentioned.

“You’re a doll,” Kate said drily. “So are you coming or not? We’ll drive Sam and meet you there?”

“I’m standing right here,” Sam protested, startled out of his self-conscious reverie. “How come you always act like you have to go through him to make plans with me?”

“Aw Sammy don’t be mad,” Dean drawled. “It’s ‘cause she knows who wears the pants…oh. Does that sound sexist? It does, doesn't it? Hey Katie, how about you write them down for me? 'The list of phrases that make you sound like a sexist douche’.”

Sam clicked off the speakerphone while Kate and Jasmine and even Kristie, who’d been more sullen and teenagery the past two days than Sam ever remembered being in his whole life, which was saying something, broke down into helpless laughter.

“You,” Sam said, trying to sound stern, “are an idiot.”

Dean was laughing too, but only told Sam to text him the name of the place and he’d meet them there. 

When Sam unfolded himself from Kate’s tiny Toyota, Dean was leaning against the Impala and talking to Ahmed, flipping a coin in the air and laughing at something he was saying. Dean had agreed with Sam that Ahmed reminded him of Ron, that mandroid-obsessed dude from the shifter job in Milwaukee, but for all that Dean really liked him. He was as nuts about cars as Dean was but knew nothing about actually working on them, so their spheres of interest did a kind of Venn Diagram thing where they had a little sliver of intense overlap that could keep them going for hours. Sam thought it was hilarious. Dean respected a man with a passion even when it wasn’t one he shared, and Sam privately thought that Ahmed reminding him of someone who’d died on his watch meant Dean was inclined to be more indulgent of the weird quirks that had made Sam not so sure he even liked the guy when they first met.

By way of greeting, Dean lifted his eyebrows and tossed the coin once more before flicking it directly at Sam, who caught it one-handed. It was a token for a game, probably one of those impossible-to-win claw machines ubiquitous to a place like this. The weight of it in his hand was familiar somehow, sweet, and Dean’s eyes were fixed on him when Sam looked up. “Go win yourself a teddy bear or something, huh?”

Sam curled his fingers around the token and grinned down at his boots for a second, then looked up to catch Dean’s crinkle-eyed grin and he nodded, silently sharing a decades-old memory. He tucked the coin into his pocket and turned to introduce Dean to Kristie. As Dean shook her hand and Kristie’s eyes lit up with all the brash unsubtlety only a teenage girl could muster, Jasmine’s soft voice cut like a knife through the noise of the parking lot as she looked Dean straight in the eyes and told him that if he flirted with her sister or gave her any alcohol she’d have his balls for paperweights.

“Dude,” Dean leaned in close to mutter in Sam’s ear as they trooped into the building. “That was scary. And kinda hot.”

Sam rolled his eyes and dug his elbow into Dean’s side.

Dean craned his neck to get another look at Kristie and asked, “So, kid made of glass, or what?”

Sam blew out a short breath. “No, but she is sixteen. And she’s had a crappy life, just like Jasmine. So be nice.”

Dean scoffed. “I’m always nice, Sammy, I’m a joy to be around!”

“She means it, Dean, don’t try anything.”

Dean blinked at Sam, the corners of his mouth drawing down tight. “Don’t ‘try anything’?” he repeated.

Sam faltered, almost tripping over his own feet and the look on Dean’s face. “I, uh, I didn’t mean, uh, that. That came out wrong.”

Dean pressed his lips together, standing very still for a minute until their friends had disappeared inside and they were alone. “What did you mean, then? Just out of curiosity.”

“I was just teasing you.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “You know. Giving you shit.”

“Not funny, Sam.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m serious, all right? No jokes like that. That’s gotta be off the table until I say otherwise, okay?”

Sam huffed, frowning. “I didn’t mean it, Dean. Jesus. You actually think I’d—“

“No. I don’t. But that’s not the problem,” Dean turned away from him, running a hand over his mouth. 

Sam stepped right up behind him. “Then what is the problem, huh? ‘Cause if you know I didn’t mean it, what—“

“Sam, could you just.” Dean let out a quick breath and glanced back at Sam over his shoulder. He gave a smile that was forced as all hell, his jaw tight and his eyes darting all over the place. “Never mind, all right? Forget it.”

Sam reached out, resting a hand on the flat of Dean’s shoulder blade, thumb rubbing over his spine through his t-shirt. It felt like the heat of the day had soaked into his brother’s skin, and even in the middle of whatever-this-was (and Sam tried hard not to think the words _our first fight_ ), all Sam wanted to do was press against him and soak it all in. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean finally turned, and Sam’s hand slid down to rest on his hip. Dean sighed and hooked his fingers in Sam’s front pocket, pulling him closer after a quick glance around the still-empty parking lot. Lines spiderwebbed out from the corners of his eyes as he looked up at Sam, unblinking. “What do I keep telling you, Sammy? Nothing and no one, okay? I don’t even want to think about it, you got that? Even as a joke. It ain’t funny.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam ducked his head to mouth the words against Dean’s temple. “Okay.”

The next morning, Dean went with Sam to get his car washed and, trapped inside the already claustrophobic Buick, now with soap suds like a ghostly midsummer blizzard blanking out everything that wasn’t the two of them, they ended up locked in an argument so tense Sam could hardly have said what it was about. Everything and nothing was on the table, and Dean took off that afternoon to take out a pair of vengeful spirits in Bellevue, Nebraska.  
\---

After the hunt, Dean banged up to hell and back, Sam remembered what they’d fought about. 

They’d fought about _could-be_ s and _might-have-been_ s and _should-we_ s. Theoreticals they didn’t have any reason to worry about and every right to prepare for because self esteem, self confidence, these were traits the Winchesters learned to fake at an early age. Sam remembered all but kneeling on his father’s chest once, back of the Impala, in a whiteout blizzard and whether or not Dean was old enough to be driving was a fact lost to the mists of time. But Dean talking to him, that constant reassuring babble of _It’s going to be fine, Sammy, I promise, Dad, hold on, we’re going to be fine,_ that was an anchor in his memory, a save point. Sam thought about it, now and again, and with all the rational distance of a decade or more he still couldn’t say for sure if their dad would have survived the night if Dean hadn’t told him, in no uncertain terms, that that was exactly what was going to happen. 

How many years had Sam spent, looking at the back of his brother’s head and resenting him for how he always knew what was going to happen, always knew how things worked when Sam felt like he was struggling to remember the cardinal directions? What right did he have, then, sitting in the car with his brother’s face in beautiful goddamn profile, what right did he have to be angry when Dean _wasn’t_ sure, when Dean wasn’t confident? 

_You can’t promise you know what you’ll want next year or even next month, any more than you can promise you won’t get hurt on this hunt, Dean!_

Sam hadn’t been angry because Dean wasn’t making him promises; he’d been angry because he was scared. Dean had voiced it as a fear; he was afraid of what would happen if he started missing being with women. He was afraid of getting restless and wanting to be on the road again. He was afraid of letting Sam get caught by the people he cared about.

That’s how it had started, Sam was pretty sure. When they accidentally revisted the idea of telling their friends. Of spinning some story of them as lovers afraid to come out, for any number of reasons, boyfriends posing as brothers for years. Sam was mortified by the idea of telling Kate he’d been lying to her, and what happened when real life caught up to them? Felt like they were burning the candle at both ends; they didn’t tell anyone and sooner or later someone was going to catch the way Dean looked at him, get an eyeful of the way Sam couldn’t keep his hands off his brother when he had a drink or two in him. Or, tell people here, and wait for the fallout when Bobby inevitably made a contact in the area, or Jo came to visit them on her way back from a job. Sam felt trapped, caught in some stupid prisoner’s dilemma, and he’d never done well behind bars any better than Dean handled being afraid.

Second verse same as the first, since they got together, with Dean sometimes only just managing to keep his fears of what-might-happen at bay, and Sam trying his best to break down his walls faster than Dean could build them. He was still Dean’s little brother after all, and that gave him the right – the imperative – to push against Dean, pick away at his defenses and leave him open and raw and Sam’s for the taking. But that morning at the car wash, Sam had pushed too hard. Dug too deep. Let his own fears bully him back in time, revert him to his childhood state of taking and taking and taking from Dean. 

They made up on the phone that night, while Dean staked out the old haunted house, Sam’s mind gone giddy with terror he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager on his knees beside a motel bed praying for his dad and his brother to come home safe so he could tell them he was sorry for the things he said before they left. 

\---

_Third week of October 2008,_  
_Bellevue, Nebraska_

[Dean, around 3PM.]  
Dude you'll never guess what happened! The little girl showed up her ghost anyway. Dude she went nuts when I wasted the other ghost so much goddamn wailing my ears are still ringing! My right ear, can't hear much with the left, I'm at the hospital now, thought I'd better check it out cuz 3 hours later I could still hear like only a gunshot. 

There was some fucked up dude with a gun at the gas station, that's how I know

Must have been when she threw me across the room the first time

The ear I mean, she was totally freaky, dude I don't know why the other ghost was so messed up about her. I hate ghost children!!!

[Three minutes later.]  
I'm alright

[One minute later.]  
In case you were worried I know how you get

Still don't know who that creepy thing was, you gotta look into this, there's got to be a connection

[Five minutes later.]  
The Livingstons were awesome, didn't even say anything about the house. It was a mess I tried straightening it up but the floor kept moving so I quit trying and called them. They wanted to take me to the ER but I told them I was alright but dude, I was driving back to the motel 

at like 3 miles an hour. Baby's upset with me I can tell

[An hour later.]  
Call me when you can talk. Doctors gave me pills, ear's good, I got a minor concussion, gotta lay low they said a week at least I'm gonna go crazy 

[Five minutes later.]  
Sammy I can't drive all the way back, don't wanna stay here for a week by myself

Crashing now, no pain, its awesome you know where I'm staying will you come get me

Missed you, itwas an awesome hunt dude!!!!

[Ten minutes later.]  
Sammy your the best your everything

[Thirty minutes later.]  
Can't talk baby boy too hard

My tongue feels like a wake so huge

Wale

Whale

Fuck

[Sam]  
I'm going to be there as soon as I can.

I'm working on getting my shifts covered and I'm going to call the garage, let them know you're going to be out for awhile. 

You should have let them take you to the ER right away, what were you thinking? 

Has your hearing come back?

[Dean]  
thanks sammy

Cant tell too quiet in here

But I think I heard my cell better

like back to stereo a littl

not going to the er it was nothing

You not gonna bitch at me are you?

Im not gonna come back with you if you do

Doctor said I gotta take it easy so you gotta cut me some slack ok?

[Sam]  
Okay, no bitching. 

Do I even want to know what you mean about a crazy guy with a gun at the gas station?

[Dean]  
I'm gonna tell you all about it I was awesome like Chuck Norris

[Two minutes later.]  
Sammy bring clean clothes

Thanks

For coming to get me and taking care of stuff

[Sam]  
You only care about what doctors say when you can make their orders sound like "make Sammy play hot nurse" :)

[Dean]  
Don't know what your talking about

But you gonna right? Play hot nurse

[Sam]  
I'm sure you don't.

Crazy brother.

[Dean]  
They said no need for healthy food just saying

[Sam]  
You're welcome. You know I always will. 

Careful what you wish for, I might show up in a little white dress like the Joker in Dark Knight.

[Dean]  
You dont scare me, Bet you can make anything look good

You will? Will you?

[Sam]  
I hope you're asking about me always showing up to take care of your sorry ass and not about me showing up in a dress. 

The answer to the first question is yes, always. 

As long as I'm breathing, I'll come for you, Dean. 

Don't take that as an invitation to get yourself banged up more than you do.

[Dean]  
You're not gonna make good on that promise? I'm crushed dude

Maybe tomorrow then?

My ass isn't sorry my ass is fine. And I can take care of myself

Always?

[Sam]  
Yes, always.

Your ass really is fine.

Leaving now, be there soon.

\---

_A few days later, Madison, WI_

[Dean. Midday.]  
Sammy, who do you think is hotter, you or Scully?

[Sam]  
Why is this even something you think about?

Who do you think is hotter?

[Dean]  
You can melt spoons!

Cuz I'm bored outta my skull

Which is fine now, no need to stay at home anymore

My skull is or my head, whatever

[Sam]  
I melt spoons, huh. That's a new one. 

I'm sorry you're bored. Think you're up for going out somewhere later? When was the last time you took a painkiller?

For the record, I think you're hotter than Scully, too. And Mulder. 

[Dean]  
Don't remember, but I'm good to go!

[Sam]  
Yeah, maybe you should take it easy for another couple of days :)

I could bring home some food and we can watch a movie? I've been jonesing for The Dark Knight, don't ask me why. 

Oh and I got an email back from the county historical society with those scans I asked for, maybe you can take a look and see if you recognize any of the pictures as that little girl ghost or the other spirit that showed up. 

[Dean]  
Yeah, I’m gonna, I wanna know!

You still gonna come back to mine tonight, right?

[Sam]  
Yeah, of course. 

Unless you're sick of me. 

[Dean]  
Dude, I'm the one with the concussion, stop talking crazy

Sounds good, all of it, but I gotta leave the house, I'm going crazy

[Sam]  
Well what do you want to do? I know you hate it but you really should be taking it easy. I'm worried about your hearing, I know you say it's fine but I can tell you're not at 100% yet. 

[Dean]  
Is that cuz I was louder this morning? Give yourself some credit

[Sam]  
Yeah and speaking of taking it easy, I can't believe you talked me into that! 

[Dean]  
Let's go to that vintage car place. I know it's a 30 min drive but we can still come back home early

[Sam]  
Okay.

You're like impossible to take care of, you know that?

[Dean]  
It was so good, never thought touching like that could be so good. How can you be the size of King Kong and be so sensual

What are you talking about, I'm the perfect patient

I'm thinking it'll be good for my brain if I drive at least some of the time

[Sam]  
I want to know how you're so macho and tough all the time but get you alone and you're so sweet with me I don't know what to do with myself. 

[Dean]  
Just wanna treat you right, baby boy

You're amazing. I told you that this morning, didn't I? See, my melon's doing ok

[Sam]  
I think you're thinking with your downstairs melon. 

[Dean]  
Ok, that sounded weird, maybe YOU should have your head checked! And your heart while you're at it, what, I can't think you're amazing unless I want sex? Cold, dude

[Sam]  
What? Dude, that's not what I said. 

[Dean]  
That's what I got from it. Sorry, Sammy, I'm getting...you know. Cranky

[Sam]  
I just meant that just because you're apparently well enough for sex doesn't mean you're back to full capacity and shouldn't still take it easy. You got smashed up so bad it's a wonder you even made it to the hospital on your own and it's barely been three days since then. I shouldn't have even let you talk me into sex this morning. I suck at taking care of you. 

[Dean]  
Def need to get your head checked, you're the best nurse a guy could ask for!

You're good to me, Sam, with the meds and the food and everything else

[Sam]  
So you wanna go look at cars tonight?

[Dean]  
And that wasn't sex, it was love making, alright?

Yeah, let's do this! See? You're awesome

What about me driving?

[Sam]  
Don't take any more pills and I'll see how you seem when I get home. 

[Dean]  
Yes, Doctor.

You'll probably need to do a thorough check up if you know what I’m sayin

[Sam]  
Yeah that sounds about right. 

Jesus, you and me.

Love making huh?

[Dean]  
What?

Felt like it

[Sam]  
Yeah.

[Dean]  
But yeah love making, sex, whatever, same thing

For you too?

[Sam]  
No, it's not, you just said it wasn't 

[Dean]  
I'm concussed

[Sam]  
That's not going to work forever. 

[Dean]  
It was, wasn't it?

[Sam]  
Yeah it was. It was great. It was the best, actually. 

I mean that. 

[Dean, three minutes later.]  
Sammy, can I ask you something

[Sam]  
Yeah?

[Dean]  
Is it always like this? I used to think hooking up would be the best like top of the top, you know. But with every day it's getting crazier

I wanna be with you more

[Sam]  
Is what always like this? Being with someone you're crazy about? 

[Dean]  
Yeah

[Sam]  
I don't know, Dean. I mean, I have a little more experience than you do, but honestly? I mean this is kind of in a league if its own, you know? I don't think we can really compare it to anything. I mean, normal siblings don't save each others lives over and over before they're even teenagers. And normal lovers? I mean, who ever has the kind of history we have. 

So I don't know, is my answer. I know it wasn't like this with me and Jessica, even though what we had was good, really good. 

Is that what you were asking? 

[Dean]  
Yeah

[Sam]  
Are you ok?

[Dean]  
Yeah, yeah, I’m good

That's what I've been telling you!

[Sam]  
Are you sure?

You're thinking way too much for a person with a concussion 

[Dean]  
Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just I don't know, it's all new to me

What does that tell you? I gotta drive and do stuff!

[Sam]  
Yeah I know. I don't know of it helps, but I don't think I was much better prepared for it all. 

We're working this out from the ground up together, I mean. 

[Dean]  
No, you are. Even without Jess you still would have been

Feels like you know what's what. You've always known about this kind of thing

That’s good

[Sam]  
Okay, okay, we'll go out and you can drive! Jeez one track mind.

In case you didn't notice, I only have the one brother so I'm not sure how I'd have any more practice than you do at falling for him. 

[Dean]  
Told you, you just know about this stuff

Oh, and I have like at least three tracks running, dude!

[Sam]  
What's on the third track?

[Dean]  
What do you think, dorky?

Seriously? You. If there's one track running only, it's always you

[Sam]  
Well I figured 1. Baby boy 2. Baby 3. ...food? ;-)

[Dean]  
No, I meant now: 1 all that chick flick stuff 2 driving 3 wanna touch you

But you got the basics, yeah. Only 3 is hunting dude, who do you think I am, Caligula?

[Sam]  
We can combine all those tracks when we take the car out tonight. I love kissing you in the Impala.

Wow, nice reference, I'm impressed.

[Dean]  
Screw you!

Soon? ;)

[Sam]  
Okay. :)

\---

_Same day, Madison, WI_

 

_Sam_

Sam took the Impala that morning without asking, thinking the only way to keep Dean from taking off while he was gone was to take his wheels away. Definitely a good precaution, considering how restless he'd been, keeping a steady stream of texts pinging into Sam’s phone all day. Sam idled at the stop sign around the corner from Dean's house, chest tight. So many of their serious conversations, their confessionals and declarations, happened via text that he mostly didn't think about it anymore, transitioning from texting to talking without a hitch. Sometimes, though... Sometimes Dean would drop something on him, like the phrase _love making_ just for example, that made him dizzy, made him flash back to the months they spent texting when the hundreds of miles between them acted like a safety net and it didn't matter if Sam sometimes didn't know how he'd face his brother after the things they'd said, because he didn't have to.

Tonight, though, after all of that, after what Dean had said, baring his freaking soul just about and asking Sam if it was okay... Sam glanced in his rearview, still no one behind him so he stayed stalled at the intersection, rubbing his temples. He would never have guessed that what Dean wanted from him was reassurance that Sam knew something he didn't, that Sam was going to guide them or at least reassure Dean that they were on the right path. He'd had the thought, a few times, that Dean was practically a virgin when it came to relationships. And it was always followed swiftly by the thought of how could that possibly matter. 

It's not like they were high school sweethearts trying to learn how to navigate a relationship. They were brothers. They knew exactly how to navigate their own relationship, and nothing was going to change that. Dean still barged into the bathroom when Sam was brushing his teeth and snapped his towel at him when Sam turned his back. Still slept closest to the door and walked a half-step in front of Sam. It wasn't much of a change that he now hooked his chin over Sam's shoulder in the bathroom and sometimes dribbled toothpaste on him, or that the towel cracked across Sam's ass instead of his back, or that he was as apt to fall asleep on top of or beneath Sam as beside him and when they walked together he was always reaching for Sam, a hand lingering at his elbow or wrist or the small of his back. All of these gestures said exactly the same thing, the same thing he'd been saying forever. _I'm here. I've got you._

Sam drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and kicked his brain into gear. Dean had been open with him, had willingly started a conversation about their whatever-this-was. So the least Sam could do was get home when he said he'd be home and let Dean get his hands on his baby. Both of them. Sam smiled and caressed the steering wheel and turned the corner.

Dean was sitting on the front porch. He got up as soon as the Impala pulled into view and Sam had barely put her in park before Dean was pulling open the driver's side door, crowding Sam along the bench seat, pulling him close and kissing him hard. That obnoxious little warning siren in Sam’s head that never really quit, just got muted, started wailing and he couldn't help jerking away a little and looking around. Dean honest-to-god growled and pulled him back, twisting both hands in Sam's hair and tugging lightly. Sam didn't try to pull away again.

"I could hear you thinking from two blocks away," Dean accused when he finally let Sam him go. 

Sam gave a guilty shrug. "Sorry, I was just—" 

Dean kissed him quiet and settled back into the driver’s seat, reaching up to adjust the mirror, fingers ghosting lovingly over its curves. "Missed you, sweetheart."

Sam snorted. "It's been two days."

"Two days can feel like forever, right, baby?" He patted the dash and turned to glare at Sam. "Oh and by the way, dick move, kidnapping her like that. You could have asked."

Sam laughed. "She agreed with me that it was for your own good. You'd have started tinkering and tinkering always leads to driving."

"Yeah, well, whatever," Dean flicked on the headlights, testing the blinkers against the reflective white of the garage door. "I changed the oil in your bitchmobile and how many times do I gotta tell you to take her in to get the tires rotated?"

Sam held up his hands. "Fine, whenever you get back to work, I'll bring it in."

Dean rolled his eyes and draped his arm along the seat, hand cupping the back of Sam's neck.

"You didn't have any more pills after lunch, did you?" 

Dean shook his head. "Nah." 

Sam scooted closer to him. "Let me look at your eyes. Come on, Dean! Just, let me—" He reached over and twisted the keys out of the ignition, holding them away from Dean's reach. "You said yourself you needed a checkup, that's what I'm doing. Let me look at you."

"Bitch," Dean grumbled, but didn't flinch away as Sam called him a jerk and dug a penlight out of the glove box to check Dean's eyes, watching them dilate, testing his coordination. 

"Okay," Sam said, fitting himself close in to Dean's side, "let's drive."

He stopped counting after the third time Dean turned his head and pressed his lips to Sam's temple. His hand on Dean's thigh felt like it was molded there, like they were fused together by the molten heat that gathered between them wherever they touched. 

Dean pointed them towards the vintage car lot and they drove with the music turned down low, not saying much. Sam let himself drift, the first few miles. Basking in being close to Dean, being in the car, heading out of the city as the sun was just starting to contemplate setting. He felt comfortable, the buzz in the back of his skull easy to ignore until they were on the open road, cows and fences replacing humans and houses, and then he started to feel that itch, the need to figure out what was going on spreading out across his shoulders and down his arms, under his skin until his fingers turned restless against Dean’s leg, tapping against his knee and he knew Dean felt it, knew he was waiting on him to start something. The fact that he wasn’t turning up the radio, or launching into one of his long-winded tall tales, had Sam’s throat going all tight and scratchy and he couldn’t figure out what to say.

He remembered driving to the movie theater, all those weeks ago now. A storm brewing overhead and all of this about to burst in between them. That same feeling of overload, of too much going on to just talk about it. He wanted to talk about it. Wanted to figure out what was going on so that he’d know that it was all okay. He thought it was. Okay. Thought it was great, actually. So maybe there was a mountain of shit just waiting to drop on them, maybe they were crazy to think that this could ever work. Sam smiled at that and tightened his grip on his brother’s knee. Crazy, actually, was the idea that either of them would ever let this go. 

All this last month, every night they’d managed to spend together, Sam found himself waking up every morning like clockwork at three AM to spend the hours until dawn looking at his brother. Sometimes reaching for him, tucking an arm around his waist and burrowing in, and then he’d sleep like the dead. And sometimes letting natural urges take over, waking Dean with his insistent nudges and sloppy, half-asleep kisses, keeping them rocking together and making stupid promises until the sun showed up and finally one morning Dean said, “Dude, you gotta let me get some sleep, I’m dying here.” They didn’t leave the room that whole day. Dean made up an excuse about stomach flu and Sam said there’d been a family emergency, and that afternoon, as people crunched through fallen leaves outside Dean’s window, Sam learned what it felt like to have his brother all the way inside of him and locked around him, covering and owning and completing him entirely. 

If they could figure out how to make that work, they could figure the rest of this stuff out, too. 

Sam cleared his throat and looked at Dean, trained his eyes back out the window before he said, "So, this morning."

From the corner of his eye he caught the flash of Dean's smile, and felt the way his arm reflexively tightened around him, his palm resting almost over Sam's heart.

When Dean spoke a second later his voice was pitched a little lower, a little gruffer than usual, but otherwise normal. "Yeah, what about it?"

Sam poked his elbow into Dean's ribs. "It felt different." He glanced at Dean then down at his hand, where the tips of his fingers were running gently over the seam of Dean's jeans. "I mean, I spent all morning feeling like a tool for even letting it happen, like what kind of greedy asshole am I that I can't just let you rest, or say no to you when it's for your own good, but I couldn't stop, Dean.”

Sam let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his scalp. Felt like he could never stop, when it came to Dean. Never stop worrying, or wanting, or loving, or needing, or asking. With the same conviction that he could tell you his last name or his birthday or the properties of salt, silver, and holy water, he knew that this thing with Dean was for good. For keeps. Written into their bones, an essential element in the blood they shared, the whole works. 

“This morning, I mean, I couldn't help it, and, I guess it's ‘cause you're injured that it started out so gentle, but, that's not what I was thinking about, I didn't even remember I was supposed to be careful with you, I just... But afterwards I felt so bad for not remembering and because I can't stop thinking about it, how good it was. But it made me think... Yeah, I feel awful, that this happened to you and I wasn’t there, but there’s more to it than that, I think.”

 _There’s should, and then there’s_ should. Sam was willing to bet that Spanish, German for sure, would have had a way to differentiate between the two. _I_ should _have been there with you_. There was obligation, he figured, and then there was belonging. For so much of his life he’d thought that blood – family – was always about one, rarely about the other.

“I think...” Sam turned to Dean, looked over at him just in time to watch a stray glance of sunset gold catch in the slant of his brows, the corners of his eyes, to watch the wind play through his hair the way Sam liked to, when they lay in bed with nothing to do but learn and re-learn each other and now, Sam discovered, he could add this item to his crazy list: _Sam Winchester is jealous of the wind._

Sam rested his head against Dean's and sighed through his nose, squeezing his brother's knee. "I think too much."

\---

_Dean_

Baby had to be canonized - Dean had decided this five minutes after taking off to the vintage car place, hands flirting with her wheel. Temples should have been built in her name, or at least there should have been t-shirts with her picture on them; maybe some mini-models of her, like Baby action figures. 

It was a testimony to the power Sam had to trump anything in Dean’s life that he managed to make Dean forget his lyrical car-loving mood entirely and focus on trying to decipher what his little brother was trying to communicate to him in a string of sentences that sure sounded like they had some emo embroidery all over them.

"I mean, I spent all morning feeling like a tool for even letting it happen,” Sam was saying, berating himself for giving Dean a great orgasm of all things. “Like what kind of greedy asshole am I,” Sam went on, “that I can't just let you rest, or say no to you when it's for your own good, but I couldn't stop, Dean. This morning, I mean, I couldn't help it and I guess it's ‘cause you're injured that it started out so gentle, but, that's not what I was thinking about, I didn't even remember I was supposed to be careful with you, I just... ” 

Dean shook his head inwardly. This had to be going somewhere tricky.

“But afterwards I felt so bad for not remembering," Sam continued quickly, "and because I can't stop thinking about it, how good it was. But it made me think...Yeah, I feel awful, that this happened to you and I wasn’t there, but there’s more to it than that, I think." 

He finally stopped, like he’d turned a corner and found himself nose to nose with a wall. He seemed to pull back mentally, Dean could just hear it happening in Sammy’s head. Which now rested against Dean's.

Sam sighed, squeezing Dean’s knee. "I think too much," he confessed.

“No argument about that,” Dean murmured, head turning slightly so the words were spoken into Sam’s hair. 

He took a breath in. It was turning into some sort of a fetish, more embarrassing than wearing French maid outfits and dusters. Although far be it for Dean to shame anyone for their kink. He liked Sam’s _hair_ , who was he to judge? It was a thing. Maybe others did too. Maybe there was a support group somewhere for people with a thing for Sam’s hair. Meeting once a week and crying over how adorably floppy it was, or how silky the strands felt to the touch, or how good it smelled, and now Dean was having bloodthirsty thoughts of taking a machine gun to that group and ending them all. 

He might have lied to Sam that his head was back in the game full-time. 

But even if it was his concussion talking, Dean respected what it had to say. It made sense. Sam’s hair, like all of Sam, was only his now. It was unfathomable how he’d spent years knowing others had carded their fingers through those strands or worse, tightened their grip in there and tugged. The rest didn’t bear thinking about. To think that Dean had even been invested in Sam’s sex life, trying to hook him up, always watching him like a hawk whenever he was around a girl, ready with the running commentary…

Well, that kind of said it all, didn’t it?

Next to him Sam sighed again. Dean had no illusions that just because his little brother had confessed one of his greatest sins, namely thinking too goddamn much, he hadn’t continued practicing it the moment the words had left his mouth.

His mouth. _There’s a thought,_ Dean congratulated himself silently as he pulled over. There was hardly any traffic and anyway, he couldn’t care less about who saw what from their fast-moving vehicle.

Sam straightened up and ducked his head to take in more of the scenery from the front window. “Why’re we stopping?” 

Dean switched off the engine and turned to Sam, hand going directly to palm his brother’s neck. “Because I have this newly discovered way of shutting you up and shutting down your brain so I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take advantage of it as much as I can.” 

It still filled him with dangerous euphoria, the feeling of Sam’s mouth opening under his. Sam had been almost always frantic the first few times, going too fast and too hard at it. Not in a million years would Dean have thought that it would fall on him to be the gentle one, teach Sam to slow down, use his tongue the way a kitten would to eat melted ice-cream, not like a hungry hobo would to wolf down a hotdog. But damn if his baby boy wasn’t a talented student… As if hearing his thoughts Sam now tilted his head back invitingly, the gesture just submissive enough to make Dean’s insides feel like caramelized sugar. Speaking of, Sam’s lips were closing and opening in a sensual, unhurried rhythm while his sweet tongue slid against Dean’s, still going quite deep, deep enough to make driving with a hard-on a distinct possibility.

They kissed for a while, losing themselves in the sensations. Dean’s eyes had closed almost instantly, but his hands were supplying his brain with more of Sam, stroking his neck and burying his fingers in his hair. He was stupid with love, the evidence to be found no further than every time he started kissing Sam. Dean could literally spend hours just caressing him, holding him and breathing him in, and kissing him indiscriminately. There was not a part of Sam that he wouldn’t have touched with his tongue and lips, and he’d made quite a conscientious effort in putting that belief to the test.

Sex with Sammy was easy, once Dean let go. Let go of trying to be two steps ahead, all in the name of protecting his brother; let go of beating himself up about anything that went wrong or that was just awkward, and when it came to anal sex, there was so much that could go wrong it was a friggin’ miracle gay dudes didn’t just stick to the A-side of the record. But in that, like in everything else, they were a team. Sam, the consummate nerd, went online and read all about it. He must have watched some educational gay porn or erotica or whatever politically correct name they gave it. Dean wouldn’t have put it past him, because the way Sam prepared and advised and explained and directed Dean, well… A lesser man would have lost his boner.

Not Dean. There was some dithering going on downstairs once or twice, but oddly enough having Sam talk to him with his studious face, having him say, “You got to stay still for a bit after you get it in first, my inner muscles will be contracting on instinct…” Dean got it, it made sense. 

It worked. It was them. Once they got going, it was a hurricane of instinct and fire and oneness. Again, it was them.

“Dude, now you’re thinking too much,” Sam said in the present, a little smirk playing about on his lips; something almost…proud?

They must have pulled away from each other, or at least Dean had. He didn’t know what was written on his face, but Sam’s stunning hazel eyes were drooping with the happy. 

So many hurdles and false starts and wrong turns, but at the end they figured it out, they always made it work. All Dean had to do was let it go and go with it, go with Sam. There might have been something bigger in that somewhere…

He tried speaking without much success, cleared his throat and straightened up.

Sam was positively turning smug, or at least smuggish. “You want to tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Dude, I’m concussed,” Dean said with due indignation. “I shouldn’t be talking. Doctor’s orders.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, and driving, texting all the time, and kissing your brother on the side of the road is highly recommended.”

Dean shrugged, throwing a wink in Sam’s direction. “Bet we can find a kinky doctor to prescribe it as the best therapy.”

This time Sam only huffed, still smiling. They stayed in silence for a moment, both looking ahead, then Dean cast Sam a sideways glance. “What are you asking me, Sammy?”

Sam took a very deep breath, fingers diving into his hair and pushing it away from his face. He let the air out of his lungs loudly, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m just… I’m trying to work out how to do this, you know. I should have come with you—No, I get it, all right?” Sam lifted a hand to stop Dean’s still unspoken protest, the one he was about to make for the fifth time since he got back. The hand could have been just as easily a pacifying gesture as a halting one. _Shut up and listen to me, Dean._

“It’s not going to work with just you hunting.” Sam looked out the side window, the gesture oddly reminiscent of the countless times he’d done it while they were driving through the night. He spoke his next words very quietly. “I want back in. But we cut it down, we don’t let it run our lives. There’s got to be a golden middle somewhere and we gotta find it, cause I am freaking out enough as—”

Dean had shuffled in his seat so he was turned to Sam, so he now had a perfect view of the mental break Sam hit. He could feel himself tense up.

“What are you saying?”

_Let go. It’s Sam._

Sam’s gaze on him was scared, if anything: for freaking Dean out, for whatever was brewing in his unconcussed head. “No, look, it’s nothing bad, I just… Guess I’m freaked how intense it gets between us. The sex and just…everything. But yeah, the sex.” He also resettled himself to look at Dean, that straightforward boring into his eyes that was such a part of Sammy. “Does it feel that way to you?”

“Yeah.” A split second flood of all the moments when Dean had felt close to being overwhelmed with desire, lust, affection, love. “Yeah, it does.”

Sam looked at him expectantly, eyebrows rising after a couple of seconds during which Dean just looked back at him, incomprehensive. 

“So?” Sam insisted, hands opening with the words.

“So what? It’s not like we’re in mortal danger.” 

“Dean…” It was Sam’s tired version of his name, the one he used when he thought Dean was missing the point or worse, being a clown about it.

“No, I mean it, Sam. When have we ever known anything different, huh? What, now we’re going to start taking it easy, playing it safe? A little late for that. We’re brothers and we’re fucking.” Sam flinched at the words, but Dean had to drive his point across. “I don’t give a fuck about it anymore, about the guilt and the—and how wrong it is, and all that crap. I don’t know why, don’t ask me to explain it, man. But it’s like someone flipped a switch in my head.” He looked to the left out of the front window—the only frame through which sometimes all the pieces of the world fit together. There were bushes to the right, quite a bit of lush green; the road was curving to the left some five hundred yards away. If he drew an imaginary straight line for it, instead of the turn, in the far distance it landed on something that looked like a bunch of buildings, one bigger one to the back and a few smaller ones scattered around it.

He looked back at Sam and shrugged. “I’m just saying. That’s how _we_ are.”

Sam was watching him, unblinking, clearly taking in his words. Dean felt a little out of breath and there was a bit of very light, high-pitched buzzing going on in his ears. He drew a carefully inconspicuous deep breath through his nose and ran a hand over his mouth to cover it. This was probably exactly what Sammy was worried about: Dean, recently concussed, fainting like a fragile pretty thing just because they were having an intense conversation. Half their conversations were intense. Okay, a third. That was the whole point. They _knew_ how to do this.

“So you’re saying,” Sam spoke slowly, “you’re saying that it’s basically…okay?”

“Yes!” Dean hadn’t intended his voice to come out so squeaky. “Yes. We’ll figure it out like with everything else. And I’m going to tell you something else. Of all the ways I could die, I’ll take that one in a shot.” Sam was beginning to roll his eyes but if Dean was to be deterred by Sammy rolling his eyes at him, he wouldn’t have said or done much in the last thirteen-fourteen years. “What?” he went on. “You wouldn’t take death by an awesome orgasm?”

He could see Sam was torn between scowling and grinning so he darted his right hand out to cup Sam’s package briefly, making Sam start and muffle a yelp. Dean wriggled his eyebrows at him in what he hoped was if not a seductive then at least a disarming way. He was rewarded by Sam snorting and kissing him.

It was quick this time, both aware this was just an interlude. When they pulled apart, Sam’s eyes had cleared up, shining with the kind of warmth Dean still found stupefying every time he realized it was only on account of him being himself.

“Besides,” he told Sam, tone dropping down to seriousness, “do _you_ know how to do that? Tone it down, I don’t know… Keep it in check? How do you do that, Sam?”

Sam’s face had instantly mirrored Dean’s voice. It broke Dean’s heart sometimes, how young Sam still was, how vulnerable beneath all that size, and all those brains, the years of tough experiences that were enough for ten people. 

“I don’t know,” Sammy said. His eyes fluttered closed for just a second. “I don’t know how to do it,” he repeated softly. “I guess… I guess I’m just scared something will go wrong. Like this morning, when…”

Dean threw his arms up in the air. “Will you quit acting like you molested me or something? You didn’t make me do cardio, dude. I was just lying there while you...massaged my dick like it was made of fine china.” 

God, it had felt _so_ good, Sam stripping him down slowly, just caressing him all over and dragging his nails over sensitive areas from time to time, then giving him the most amazing handjob ever. If Dean had known that his whining that they could still do it, as long as they took it real gentle, would result in this kind of treatment, he’d have turned into a spoiled princess weeks ago. The way Sam had used just the thumb and forefinger of both his hands… He _had_ to have seen that on one of his Gay Kama Sutra videos and taken notes. 

Oh, who cared, if he was turning into some kind of sex god as a result? Just another reason for Dean to love his life a little at last.

Not at all the biggest reason.

Dean swallowed. He needed to get back to talking about messing around, it was something tangible, solid and familiar now. His love for Sam was like a bottomless pit – sometimes he dove so deep down and he still had air in his lungs, sometimes he suddenly got scared that he wouldn’t come back up.

“I’m going to say something to you,” he told Sam, “but you’ve got to promise me you won’t throw a bitchfit about it.” Sam squinted at him suspiciously. “That kind of treatment I got this morning?” Dean went on, looking at Sam with all the earnestness he possessed. “It was like what you get in some of those Thai massage parlours, only ten times better.” _Because it’s you. I’m smart, too, Sam._ “I would pay you money to do that again,” he finished solemnly.

Sam’s grin, the toothpaste commercial one, split his face in the blink of an eye. He kept shaking his head at Dean, while still grinning. “Dude, you,” he said with emphasis, “are impossible.”

Dean used both his hands to indicate that his amazing physical form was present for real, right there. 

Sam pulled him in for a kiss, one of his Neanderthal ones, but this time Dean was okay with it.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This project was conceived in March 2014 and a year later we're bowing out with the last update to the actual story - fittingly, it sees the boys also a year later, counting from their first text exchange in January 2008 when Sam left for Madison.
> 
> This story will forever be lovingly called by the two authors 'The College AU'. There's something equally lovingly ironic in the fact that it turned out to be neither an AU exactly nor much of a college-focused story, but there you go - it's what happens when one lets oneself being carried on and on by inspiration, spontaneity, creativity...and by the other one in the partnership. Speaking of which, stardust_made would like to give canon_is_relative a fierce hug. You are and will always be the only Sam to my Dean. Canon would like to return that hug with interest. This Sam could not ask for a better Dean.
> 
> We would like to offer our wholehearted gratitude to [analineblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue) for her sharp eye, helpful feedback, patience, and marathon-like stamina. A big thank you to [millygal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal) as well whose icons and banner are now as much a part of the story as our words.
> 
> And to you, dear readers. Thank you.

 

 

 

[ ](http://s275.photobucket.com/user/Ms_Wooster/media/banner1jpg_zps25eeb5d1.jpg.html)

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

_January, 2009_

 

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: Hey_

Hey! Finally found some WiFi, thank God, I've been going crazy! How are you? Everything okay on the home front? Did you decide to stay in town or go to Bobby's? Fuck, I miss you. We're going to Machu Picchu tomorrow, I'm kind of afraid I'm going to get altitude sickness. They said there's no way to predict who gets it and who doesn’t, and we're not even that high up right now but Brandon, you know that guy you thought was a linebacker? He's, like, incapacitated and probably won't come with us for the next week while we're there. It's freaky not to have control over your own body even when it's not because of demonic possession or anything.

Do you ever think what a normal person would think if they read our emails?

I gotta run, dinner and some kind of orientation thing. At least the food is good! I keep forgetting to take pictures because I'm not used to doing anything interesting without you right next to me, but I got this one in the church in the town we're staying. The accent here makes it hard for me to 100% follow what they're saying but this old guy sitting in the back of the church told me this story, apparently there's a legend about what sounds like a pretty classic vengeful haunting in the crypt below. I'm not actually going to check it out, just thought it was interesting.

I should have internet access most evenings the next few days, write me back, okay, Dean?

Sam

[Attachment]  


\---

[Later on the same day.]

_From: Dean Winchester [driving.down.crazy.street@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Hey_

No, I'm not gonna write you back! Of course I'll write you back, you moron, no need to tell me that! I'm like climbing the walls already and it's only been four days. Why the hell did you have to go to a place in the last century, no internet? And for two weeks!! But yeah ok, that picture is awesome. Get your act together and snap some more. You can get your stupid face in some of them and send them my way, I won't mind.

I drove to Bobby's after all, I'll have to go back in a week though, that was all the time off I could get. Damn civilian life, I hope you appreciate that, dude. Anyway, I spent like fifteen minutes the first morning you were gone trying to figure out what was worse, keeping the sheets you slept in so I could smell you on them or changing them so that I don't end up humping the damn bed and I figured it was time to get outta there.

I was gonna make fun that altitude sickness sounded like something faint-hearted princesses like my Sammy would get, but high altitude is no joke! I don't understand the need to climb places or fly, seriously! God gave us feet to keep us on the ground, creepy things got wings and we hunt them to kill them, what does that tell you? But I hope you make that trip and you don't get light-headed and fall down from somewhere high. I swear I'll bring you back to life so that I can kick your ass. I mean it, Sam. You watch out, ok? Don't go off on your own, don't poke at things that look weird, don't agree to smoking a joint so far up, whoever tells you it’s an awesome idea is lying. And unless something comes after you and the folks there with you, no hunting. It’s gotta be trying to bite you in the ass big time and you still gotta watch your back, cause I’m not there to watch it.

Alright, I just made myself both sick with worry and sick with myself for sounding like a freaking old woman so I'll shut up. You'll have tales to tell, that's awesome. Seriously, I'm glad you went on this trip even if it means I don't get to see you for so long. I'm dying to touch you, I miss your stupid face. I don't even wanna think about what things I'll be blabbering a day before you come back if my email is already dripping with the sweet stuff.

It's all good down here. Bobby and I are going to see Rufus tomorrow, he's got a lead on a djinn, can't wait to waste another motherfucker. I hate those things. Bobby says hi.

Alright, I'll talk to you soon, I hope. You take care, Sammy.

Dean

\---

[A day later, about midnight.]

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Hey, Dean.

Let me know how the thing with the djinn goes. Be careful, all right? I know you know what you're doing and so does Bobby, but still. I don't think the kind we dealt with is the only kind out there, I read something in one of Bobby's books that made me think there are others with different abilities, like maybe they don't take time to charge up before they mojo you like the one that got you. Sorry, I'm not trying to tell you what to do, you know what you’re doing, man. Just watch your back, all right? Cause I’m not there to watch it, to quote you to you, so you can’t argue. God, those things make my skin crawl just thinking about them, I hope you get it.

I'm supposed to be in bed, everyone else is passed out and we have an early start tomorrow, but I can't sleep, going a little crazy over here. Let me tell you, it's bizarre to be so freaking far away but still in the same time zone. Like, I feel like I'm in an alternate universe or something. But maybe that's from thinking about the djinn. Either way it sucks. At least it's not just me though, you don't sound like you're doing any better. Humping the bed, Dean, really? I laughed out loud when I read that but now I just want to get on a damn plane and come home. Jesus. Remember when we were freaking out last year about all the possible things that could go wrong? Not being able to deal with a couple of weeks apart was not on the list. Not that it would have changed anything or made me think twice about things. You know what I mean. Just, hitting me harder than I expected.

Anyway. I think I'll be okay with the altitude, it just sucks to think about coming all this way to lie around hypoxic for two weeks. I'm excited to get to Cusco and see the cathedral there, even more excited to get into the countryside. There's so much tradition and lore around here and it's so different from anything back home. Seems like the US is like a melting pot where anything goes, you know like in American Gods? But ancient countries like this, it feels more like layers, maybe. The old Inca stuff laid over with the Catholic stuff laid over with the, I don't know what to call it exactly, but maybe the evolving power of the blend of old and new as the country grew into a modern sense of itself as a nation? I almost wish I was here just for our kind of stuff, but this will be good too. Sometimes normal life is weird enough on its own, right?

Okay, I'm about to pass out sitting up so I'm gonna go before that happens. I hope to write again soon and meanwhile, if you want to tell me more about how much you miss me and want to touch me I won't mind. I miss your face. And everything else. Wish you were here, Dean. Okay, gonna send before I start driving you crazy with all my princess pining crap. Not as much fun to rile you up when I'm not there to benefit from the results.

Take care of yourself, Dean.

Sam

\---

[A day and a half later, around 1AM]

_From: Dean Winchester [driving.down.crazy.street@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Hey Sammy, we wasted the son of a bitch, the motherfucker had three people hanging in there in his lair, only one of them alive. Last time it was me and that girl, this time it was just a girl. Don't want to think about if the other guy and the girl had anyone close, family, Jesus fucking Christ, I hate those evil bastards.

I'm crashing at Bobby's for the night then I'm gonna drive back to Madison tomorrow. Maybe I'll change my mind in the morning when it's day time and I don't have so much liquor in me but for now yeah, I kinda wanna stick around and spend some time with Bobby, but I wanna be close to you more and I don't know it makes sense to my weird brain that if I go home I'll be closer to you, you know. Close to what we have it's like everything to me what we have, you do know that right, Sam?

Kay, I got out to clear my head a little but it didn’t work and typing’s hard. I shoulda gone to bed or drunk less but you know, what’s there to do after that kinda hunt. And you’re not here. I miss you so fucking much, Sam, it's like physical pain and I don't know how to make it stop. Like, it's liek a bullet lodged in there and it's hurting me so bad I'd take a knife and poke at it until I take it out if I knew it'd help. But then I'm thinking I don't wanna do that that would be like taking out missing you and I wanna miss you, that's how I keep you close. Do you get what I’m saying? I know I'm typing here not even thinking, I should probably go to bed but I wanted to write to you cuz that's the only thing I can do. I wanna be close to you baby boy, I wanna hold you and kiss you and make love to you all night, touch you all the time, I wanna hold you, Sam..

Gonna sign off now, just wanted to say how much i miss you and want you back, I think about you all the time I always have but now it's like full on, you're liek the force sammy, the way I feel about you it fills me up all of me and I go around doing things and killing sons of bitches but it's always you I'm thinking about. I want you back, I'm gonna take a day off and stay in bed with you, hold you and smell you and watch you sleep and smile and moan, you moan so fucking good Sammy I wanna turn you on your front and make you moan and then put you on your back and i want you to put your hands on my face and in my hair, wnna make you feel so good

Talk to you soon need to sleep now, You take care watch out, be careful, ok

\---

[Around noon on the same day]

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Dean, I seriously only have five seconds and even if I had five hours there's no way I could say everything I'm thinking but I just had to write to you. God, Dean, do you know what you do to me? I've loved you my entire life, and now it's like everything I built up over 25 years, I feel it all at once, every single day. Sometimes I don't even know how to keep breathing or walking, it's like it's too much. The bus is leaving, I have to go.

\---

[Three days later.]

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Hey Dean,

We spent the afternoon in Sacsayhuaman, which they tried to teach us to pronounce by comparing it to "sexy woman". (I laughed on your behalf.) It’s the most amazing place I've ever been. That's where we'll be for the rest of the week, getting to assist at one of the archaeological sites. It's this enormous walled complex outside of Cusco. Cusco was supposedly the "navel of the world". (I feel like every culture has a spot that's supposed to be the earth's belly button, I know for sure I read about some city in China, anyway.) So Cusco is laid out in the shape of a puma and Sacsayhauman is the head. It's got these massive walls that are built of stones that probably make the pyramids look like they're built of legos, and they're fitted together perfectly without any mortar or anything, so tight that you can't even stick a blade of grass between them, everyone says. It's unreal. For a long time people were sure the "primitive" Incans couldn't possibly have built them so they assumed it was angels or demons or ETs. By the way, did you know the Incans didn't actually call themselves Incans? That was the title of their emperor and the Spanish conquistadors, who seem like complete bastards, called the whole empire after him.

I'm kind of surprised I retained any of that after reading your email, but I've always been good at multitasking.

I'm glad you got the djinn. I hope the girl you saved is going to be okay. Thanks to you she at least has a shot at getting back to her normal life. I'm sorry about the other two. Sometimes I have a hard time dealing with being mostly out of the life when I think about who we could be saving if we were hunting full time. I know what you'll say, you don't like the coulda shoulda woulda stuff, but I still think about it. Maybe we should plan to take summers off, or like every couple years take a year off to hunt. Something to think about, anyway.

You can skip the next part, cause it’s going to get real touchy-feely, but I need to say this or I’ll explode. I can't stop thinking about you. It feels impossible to stop, honestly. If my mind gets on another topic for even five minutes it snaps right back. What you said, about not wanting to stop missing me, I feel it too, I just hadn't figured out that’s what it was. That's a funny twist, you figuring out your feelings before me. Does it count if you were drunk out of your skull? Maybe not so funny though, I mean thinking back on it, the way things started, I think you were sure about me before I'd figured it out. And then you kind of just stopped freaking out. Wish I knew how to do that. I'm serious when I say you're a lot better at this than I am, Dean. You sell yourself short, you know that? You sometimes act like you don't think you’re good enough for anything, but you realize that's bullshit, right? You're worth everything, Dean. You deserve every good thing there is. I'd give you the fucking world if I could, and it still wouldn't be enough. I hope you believe me. God, Dean, I feel like I have a black hole inside my chest, I miss you so bad. I'd do anything to be kissing you right now. I'll take you up on that day in bed so be ready to call in whatever favors you need to get my first day back off work. I even miss your stupid icicle feet and your morning breath, so you know it's real.

Did you go back home? What's it like spending time with Bobby and having to hide this? He's gonna figure it out, isn't he? Or maybe not. People can keep secrets all their life, have you noticed that?

I gotta get some more sleep. Being up so high, it's hard to breathe, hard to move, everything feels kind of distant and strange. As awesome as today was, as fascinating as the work we're observing is – and it really is, I could legitimately see myself doing something like this for a living – I kind of feel like I never woke up. Like I'm in one of those dreams where you're putting everything you have into trying to run and barely moving at all. I'm not actually feeling sick, but I have to think about everything before I do it, remember not to turn or stand up too fast or I get dizzy.

Okay, I'm gonna go put on your shirt and hope it still smells like you and try to go to sleep. I miss you. You know I mean all this stuff I say, right, even if my head feels odd? You're the best part of my life, you always have been. Take care of yourself and write me back soon, even if it's just to call me Oprah and laugh at me, I won't mind.

Sam

P.S. I got an email from Kate this morning asking if you're gonna come for dinner tomorrow, so just let her know one way or another, okay? Thanks for stealing my friends, by the way, jerk.

P.S. again: Sorry about all this, okay,? I don’t know what’s got into me, okay, that’s a complete lie, it’s the distance and only getting to talk to you like this. You know what I just realized? We haven’t had a serious conversation via text or email since you got your own place. It’s kind of reminding me of the old days, how everything felt crazy important and dire and like the world was going to end if I couldn’t make you understand right that second just how freaking much you meant to me, how much I wanted to be with you. Kinda freaks me out that all these months later, even if feel like I got a handle on things, get me away from you for a few days and my head just goes nuts, dude, trying to figure all this out.

Write soon, okay? Otherwise I’m gonna end up wasting money on a phone card even though we agreed not to.

\---

[On the following day.]

_From: Dean Winchester [driving.down.crazy.street@gmail.com]  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Hey Sammy, I read your email and then there was a power cut at Bobby's. I'm still here, decided to stay after all. I’m thinking about what you said and maybe we shouldn’t come see him together, maybe later on but not for a while, it can work. He knows you’re busy with school and hunting less and you can come over and visit him on your own. But for now I can spend some time here with him by myself, it’s no big deal. Anyway, freaking old houses, man. Then again with what Bobby's house has seen, it's kind of a miracle it's still standing so I won't bitch about it. Anyways, I drove to town to find a place with internet and guess what, I was so antsy to leave the house and write back to you, cuz you know how to ask for things to melt my joints, but I forgot the laptop. So I borrowed someone's laptop for a minute and am gonna send this now. I'm staying at Bobby's tonight and driving home tomorrow. I'm gonna write from Madison. Just wanted to say stop thinking so much, it's bad enough your brain's got no oxygen, leave it alone, Sam, conserve its juice or whatever. We'll figure it out, ok? I promise, were gonna be fine, just don't go dwelling and poking at how things are. I'm thinking about you too, future romance novelist. I feel weird typing private stuff on this girl's computer so i'm gonna go. I miss you like crazy but I'm glad you went on that trip and got to go be a dork on an international level. I'm here, not going anywhere. Only a few days left anyway, so that's not too bad. Take care, Sam, look after yourself.

\---

[The next morning around 7AM]

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: [No subject]_

  
Hey Dean,

Oh man, I laughed so much reading about the power cut at Bobby’s. I believe this is what's known as a comedy of errors and I wish I'd been there to see your face. I'm sorry for making you rush out like that. I'm really fine, I woke up feeling a lot better. I think I'm adjusting to the altitude, which helps. Anyway, thanks for sending this, Dean, I know how much you hate to ask favors from anyone, especially strangers.

Say hi to Bobby for me. That sounds like a plan – how we’ll visit him in the foreseeable future, I mean. I sometimes wonder whether he hasn’t figured it out yet at least on some level. I’m not going to think about it now. I should go up to my room and start getting ready anyway, interesting day ahead. I was going to tell you about it, but then I thought that I’ll be back in three days and I can tell you face to face. But that can wait, first there’s that day in bed you promised me.

Take care Dean. Miss you.

Sam

\---

[Same day around 3PM]

 _From: Dean Winchester [driving.down.crazy.street@gmail.com_ ]  
_Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey_

  
Hey dude, sitting down to write back a reply to your novel, although I can’t promise you the same length, we’re not all like you, Truman.

Sounds about right that you should be doing better, your head lives on a higher altitude anyway, don't know why you weren't feeling at home there right from the start. I'm glad you're alright. And that you're being the biggest nerd those poor locals have ever seen.

I was driving home and then I was kinda beat last night, I wanted to write but couldn't think of what to say. I guess it's easier to say some things in writing but man, that's not my way. I don't know what you mean about me getting on board with this better than you, I just don't think there's anything much to work out. I mean I'm not gonna lie, I know I'm not too good with the sharing and caring. Maybe that's why it's easier to say things here or when we text - at least I don't have to look you in the eye and die of AWKWARD. My point is I don't have some newfound maturity or something, dude. You're still our resident philosopher and shrink all rolled into one. But seriously? It's who you are. You've always had that in you more, Doctor Phil. I think you're just going at it from a different angle this time, I don't know how to explain it. Like, this, between us, it's outside of any experience you got. Even if you thought about it, it wasn't like you normally think about things. Like, what you want from life or what made you clash so much with dad. I know you thought about that kind of stuff and this is nothing like that. No one thinks about this scenario and you don't study about it at school, no one talks about it. Or I don’t know. maybe it's not so different after all. I mean it's people and relationships, and that shit always looks messy.

See what I mean, I'm talking myself in circles, help me, Sammy Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope!

I guess I'm trying to say that I look like I'm taking this better or alright or whatever but it’s only because I don't think about it the way you do. What's there to think about? I asked you before, can you stop it? I know what I want and I'm not gonna be fucking stupid to ruin it when I finally got a golden hand. There are not that many good things in this life that have come easy to us, Sammy. I don't want much for myself and I still get a big load of nothing most of the time. No, I get crap a lot of the time. Maybe that's what I deserve. (I know what you're gonna say, and I don't know why you got these ideas about me but I'm not gonna go into that.) But I got you. Not like that, not like you're mine, you know what I mean, I will never stop you if you want to go. If you stay I know it's cuz you want to and that's what matters. I want you more than anything and I somehow got you, and I sure as hell am not gonna poke at that. So there's no big mystery, I just don't think about it the way you do.

So whatever we've got, it's us, it's happening. I‘m so damn happy to hear you say you wanna hunt more, it’s who I am, Sam and it’s not the same without you so if you do wanna go back to it more and do your own thing too, we can make it work, I can promise you that. And I'm sorry I got mad about the groceries and I'm sorry I took off. That's also me, can't promise you I won't do it again. When I'm pissed or annoyed or worked up, I gotta leave or else smash something. I gotta cool off, that's all it is, you know that right? You won't stop pushing my buttons looks like, but I want you to know that when I fuck off for a bit or when we fight, it changes nothing about the big stuff. I don't know what you’d have to do to make me not wanna come back.

I miss you so much I'm gonna come out of my skin. I was thinking on the way home that I used to be better at missing you. It's like now that I have you, now you're mine, it's gotten ten times worse. Maybe it'll wear off with time, but I don't think it'll change all that much. Can't worry about it anyway, I'm gonna go to bed now and jerk off twice, take the edge off. Still keeping you in bed all day and all night when you get back, I'll have a list of things I wanna do to you by then, it's gotten long already!  
  
Ok, I'm gonna sign off. You take care of yourself, alright? Write and send me some pictures, dude, it's the freaking 21st century!

I'll call Kate. Not my fault your friends have good taste in people.

Dean

\---

[The same day, one minute later.]

_From: Sam Winchester [swinchester.uwmadison@gmail.com]  
Subject: You there?_

  
Hey, just got your email, are you there? Tell me you’re still here, dude!

 

 _Dean_  
Yeah! I’m here!

 

 _Sam_  
This is crazy, my heart’s going nuts just cause you’re online at the same time.

 

 _Dean_  
Tell me about it! How long have you got?

 

 _Sam_  
I can stay maybe another 20 minutes. Didn’t even think you’d be around, thought you’d either still be on the road or at work already.

 

 _Dean_  
I’m back, working tomorrow though. Dude, this place was stinking of mold after a week with the windows closed. I told you I wasn’t imagining things! I should never have listened to you about it, we could have snuck around at my old place until I found something better. Yeah sure, we got privacy, but what’s the point of living on my own in Moldtown?

 

 _Sam_  
I can’t believe we’re online at the same friggin time, Dean, and you’re bitching at me about mold.

And that actually makes me miss you more.

 

 _Dean_  
Three more days, Sammy. I’m gonna start marking them on the walls like in prison.

And I wasn’t bitching! Just saying it how it is.

Can’t wait for you to be back.

Oh by the way, this doesn’t count as bitching, but I got no clean underwear left, where's all my underwear? Did you sneak it out and take it all to Peru? Not gonna be pissed, just wanna know we're not dealing with the boxer shorts fairy

 

 _Sam_  
Oh yeah, you caught me. Sorry about that, couldn’t help myself.

 

 _Dean_  
Just ask, dude, no shame, I get it, it's hot. But now I gotta go commando

 

 _Sam_  
I like this conversation, even though it’s kind of surreal. We did laundry the day before I left, what the hell have you been doing to run out so fast? And are we seriously going to talk about your underwear? Actually, that does sound like a good plan. You want to tell me more?

 

 _Dean_  
Very funny. Seriously, I can’t find anything in here, it's a fucking mess

 

 _Sam_  
That's because you have some kind of religious aversion to hangers and drawers.

 

 _Dean_  
It's called valuing my time. It takes like half a day to put things away! And I can’t find two same socks, it’s ridiculous.

 

 _Sam_  
I wonder if we're dealing with some kind of vengeful laundromat sprite?

 

 _Dean_  
No, I'm dealing with a fucking tiny space that looks like a bomb exploded in it.

 

 _Sam_  
And by “a bomb exploded” you mean, “beds are for losers, let’s fuck on the floor,” right? I bet the room still looks the same like on the day I left.

 

 _Dean_  
I need more space! And I need you to be in it all the time.

 

 _Sam_  
Dean, are you asking me to move in with you?

 

 _Dean_  
No, dude. What kind of a dumbass idea is that? Did you not hear me just now, the place is like a matchbox, with you in it we'll go nuts, and there’s the freaking mold, it’s not my fault your nose is faulty equipment and you can’t smell it. I’m saying you should move out and I should move out, screw the leases. I had enough of this crap and you being away now, it sucks, dude.

 

 _Sam_  
For real? Are you sure? Maybe we should have this conversation when I get back, it’s getting more surreal by the minute and I’m pretty sure it’s not just the altitude.

 

 _Dean_  
Yeah I'm sure. More than sure. I want to, Sammy. I can’t believe we waited so long.

 

 _Sam_  
Well then hell yes!

Where? In Madison?

 

 _Dean_  
Anywhere you want.

 

 _Sam_  
Are you sure that you want to be tied down like that? I mean tied to one place like that, not to me or whatever. Dean, maybe we really should talk about this face to face.

God, Dean, I just want to run away with you. Don't laugh at me.

 

 _Dean_  
Are you kidding me? I can never be tied down, I’m a stallion, man, you can’t tie this down. Seriously, Sam, that can never happen, not with you next to me. You and me, where you are is where I am, that's all.

Not literally anyway, cuz you’re over there, you nerdy freak. No more trips alone for you, I gotta come with, even if it means taking the stupid plane.

And you wanna run away, we'll run away, Bonnie. ;)

 

 _Sam_  
Why do I always have to be Bonnie? God, Dean, are we really gonna do this?

 

 _Dean_  
Cuz I like you as the Bonnie to my Clyde. And you bet we are. Just get your ass back home in one piece first. I got plans for it.

 

 _Sam_  
Oh, you do, do you? Just for my ass?

You like me, period. I feel like we're kids passing notes in class. "Do you like me circle yes or no". (I put a big stupid heart around yes just so you know.)

 

 _Dean_  
And that's why you're always Bonnie, teenboy. You're not gonna throw heart-shaped confetti all over me on v-day, are you? But yeah, okay, I'll circle that yes. God, Sam, I want you back, all of you. Want you here with me. That’s why we need to live together, we gotta, it makes sense. And that way you can put your neat freak mojo on my stuff.

 

 _Sam_  
Oh, I get it that's why you want to get a place with me, I see how it is! Not gonna be your Cinderella, dude.

 

 _Dean_  
Sammy, I'm thinking, we could find a house that needs work, maybe even a real dump, as long as the house is solid. It's gonna cost less and I can fix it up, do it real nice. I'll have lots of free time, cuz all I do now when I’m home is sit around thinking when's the next time I'm going to see you so that's gonna work out swell. And I kinda like the idea of making something with my own hands, you know? We can do it any way we want.

 

 _Sam_  
Sounds good, Dean. That all sounds really good. I can’t believe you waited for me to go all the way to Peru to ask me to move in with you.

I’d have gone to China in October if I thought it would work like this :)

How long have you been thinking about all this?

 

 _Dean_  
I hadn't really thought about it until now. Must have been there at the back of my mind though, I remember when we went to your house the day I got here, I kept thinking what needed fixing and changing. And these last ten days, it’s like, seriously, I can’t deal without you near.

 

 _Sam_  
It’s not just you, Dean. I already don’t like the nights I have to spend alone at my place.

So next time I say "Hey mind if I go halfway around the world for two weeks," do us both a favor and tie me down until I forget about it.

 

 _Dean_  
Ok, all I heard is ‘tie me down’, just so you know.;)

 

 _Sam_  
Yeah, I heard it too. And now I'm thinking about all the things we can do when we have our own place...lots of space and walls that aren't paper thin...Hey, we should find a place with a big garage so you can work on fixing up cars when you feel like it. Hell, you could have your own business if you wanted, like run a shop out of the yard or something.

 

 _Dean_  
Definitely a big garage for Baby! But I don't know, you might be right. I mean between fixing up the place and hunting, I don't know how I'll stick to a real job. We'll need cash though. You'll have to help me with the house. I'm thinking don't bother with a shirt, you sweat so much anyway, it's just gonna be more laundry. Or you can bring me food and cold beers. No need to put on a shirt for that either.

God, I’m getting hard just thinking about it, even if we’re just goofing around.

 

 _Sam_  
I’m not. Are you?

Especially not if it’s having that effect on you.

You’re being serious about that?

 

 _Dean_  
Never been more serious in my life, I swear. I’m getting excited, dude!

 

 _Sam_  
In more than one sense of the word, apparently ;) Me too, though, Dean. God, wish I was there. Or at least that I had more time right now.

Are you going to put in a pool just so I can be your pool boy? We'll need a really high, really solid fence.

 

 _Dean_  
You're just my boy, period. But I'll put in a pool if you want one. Anything you want, Sammy.

 

 _Sam_  
Hey, you know what? This could be a chance we could move somewhere no one knows us at all. You know what I mean? Somewhere we won't start out telling everyone we're brothers. I mean, if you want. I graduate in 4 months and then I guess nothing’s really holding us here. I could probably be happy anywhere. It’s just a thought.

 

 _Dean_  
Do YOU want to go someplace else, where no one knows us? Told you already, we'll do whatever you want, I'm easy. But yeah okay, maybe. We could still stop by and see people here, we drive all over the country all the damn time, might as well see a friendly face once in a while not just all that fugly.

 

 _Sam_  
Yeah, maybe. Something to think about, anyway. Hey, I don't want to freak you out or make this weird, I swear, but I keep having this thought, like, "What are we going to do for the rest of our lives?" I just mean, I can’t imagine this going away. And even if it’s not illegal, which I’m still not that clear on, it’s still not exactly something most people would be okay knowing about. Not that that's new for us. I don't know, ignore me. We can talk this out in a few days, I still can’t believe we’re having this conversation via email.

 

 _Dean_  
What can't you imagine going away? What we got between us or freaking out what to do about it?

 

 _Sam_  
See this is what I mean, we shouldn't email about stuff like this. I just read what I sent and it made no sense, sorry. I meant what we have, you and me. It's not going to go away. And if it's, like, forever, we gotta figure out some stuff. Like how big is this pool you're going to build me, I want to know that right off the bat!

 

 _Dean_  
Olympic size. Have you seen yourself?

 

 _Sam_  
Ha! Thanks, you're the best. We better set up somewhere warm so we can make use of it all year long.

 

 _Dean_  
And what's there to talk about? You’ve got me, the full package, body and soul, whatever. If shit comes up, we deal with it, other than that we keep doing what we've always done. We fly under the radar, hunt some sons of bitches and we stick together. Same life only with orgasms, that's how I see it.

 

 _Sam_  
Oh my god, Dean, you are such a dork. I want that slogan put on a t-shirt and then I’ll make you wear it.

 

 _Dean_  
Not a dork, dude, you're confusing it with genius. Handsome and sexy too. You can put that on a t-shirt my size, I’ll wear that. Oh and I kind of like emailing. And texting, especially the texting. I mean it got us together.

 

 _Sam_  
It did, didn't it. Huh.

Dean, I really need to go. I’ll see you in a few days, all right?

 

 _Dean_  
Run away, Indiana Jones. Bring me back a souvenir from your dorky archeological adventures, something cool, though, like deadly!

 

 _Sam_  
Dude, I already got you something. And don’t worry, I chose…wisely.

Talk to you later, D.

  
_Dean_  
You take care and watch out for yourself. Miss you, Sammy. See you back home soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a folder full of special features set in this verse. There are some narrative extracts, visuals, and hopefully some extended author's notes. (Now's the time to ask us anything.) But mostly, there are epistolary exchanges, some of which we feel are amongst the very best we've produced - they just didn't fit into the time frame of the main story. The boys being the Winchesters we know and love, have not contained themselves to being all adorable and curtain ficcy in their future, so there'll be domesticity and fluff, yes, but also drama, angst, some humor and lots of love, Winchester style. So you know where to find us and we hope you stick with us for the special features too.
> 
> Thank you all, present and future readers, for all the kudos and comments.♥

**Author's Note:**

> Master post [over here on LJ](http://stardust-made.livejournal.com/146639.html).


End file.
